


[Night of Rime]

by RazelKorr



Series: [Dualist] [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: ChaoticDouchebag, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Ravnica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 66,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazelKorr/pseuds/RazelKorr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Razel Korr is a planeswalker, entertaining countless lives on countless worlds as countless individuals. When a shadow from his past startles him, his hurried and reflexive responses only make the situation worse. Part 1 of 3 in the [Dualist] trilogy, this story contains 1st, 2nd, and 3rd person perspectives, all narratively justified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Contract Evaluation

Two suns shone weakly over the horizon, the extreme angle forcing the land into near-perpetual dusk. The ice was thick, providing a solid ground beneath the multiple layers of snow coating the landscape. Ancient Glaciers flowed ceaselessly through the few rocky outcroppings, disguising their long trek with the passage of time. A brisk wind tossed sleet rebelliously against the monoliths, as if trying vainly to push them back. A moon hung high above, shimmering brightly as it reflected the dual lights beyond.

Snow hardened slightly under a passing shadow, softening imperceptibly as the light returned. The darkness slid silently and tirelessly through the wastes, keeping perfect pace with the form beside it. The man was defiantly bare, showing next to no signs of the cold. His breath fogged before his face, yet his flesh was softly tanned and free of frost. His sharp green eyes scanned the horizon, seeking a familiar locale known only to him. His shaggy hair was swept back in the wind, as was his hood. The pauldrons over his shoulders hung lightly over his netting, matching his gauntlets and greaves in design and fabric. His Loincloth hung over a long skirt, serving to hide his footfalls, which never truly hit the ground.

With a broad smile and a quick reminisce, Razel came to a stop.

_(Taken from a Journal of Razel Korr, Planeswalker;)_

_It was the summer of my sixteenth year when I fell through the world. My people, as I recall, were wanderers, constantly seeking respite from the biting cold that enveloped our lives. The world was forever ensconced in a harsh winter, ice and snow more plentiful than the very air itself. Our days were cold, and our nights frigid. We dug through the layers of rime for trapped beasts, which was more fruitful than it may sound. In order to survive the harsh reality of our world, many creatures bred at an alarming rate, and died just as quickly. The frozen carrion was food for many things, not just ourselves. One such scavenger just so happened to find me during the summer of my sixteenth year._

_I was the son of a hunter, raised from the womb to traverse the snow and seek the dead. I was taught the ways of our people, the tongue of our fathers, the styles of our weapons. I learned to build defenses against the rime, as well as the best way to dig beneath our feet should the shelters fail. It was a day like all that had come before it when I was to undergo the rite of passage, sent alone into the wild to find and bring back a corpse for the feast celebrating my hopeful return. I set forth during the wee hours of the morning, waving what would be my last to my family. The entire clan wished me well, and saw me off. I recall the suns shining weakly through the clouds, softening the transition between the normally blinding white and the subdued grey of the sky above._

_For hours I wandered the hills surrounding our posts, seeking any sign of disturbance in the snow. I followed the valleys along the cliffs, searching for something that may have fallen from above. As I passed beneath an overhang of glacial ice, a subtle blue glow revealed my prize. A leaking of life lighting my way. A fellow forager must have come to the edge of the ledge above, probably out of curiosity. The additional weight must have proved too much, as the now deceased creature could attest. I wasted no time in digging it free, dragging the large beast out of the frost packed deep around it and hoisting it up on my shoulders. A smile inevitably stained my face, betraying the satisfaction I felt at my apparent success._

_The trek back towards the village was going well, with my path more or less still apparent. I was well on my way when I heard the noise. It was quiet, deep and resonant. Something hungry. I froze in place, knowing from previous encounters precisely what it was. The throat issuing that frightening call belonged to a hunter, one of the few large predators left in our world. If I remember, we called it "Frigir-Bakesh"; The Snow Stalker. It was a monstrous, giant beast, a ton of muscles and fur carried through the ice by paws laced with claws. I dropped the corpse and looked around hurriedly, hoping that it would go for the body instead of myself. I began to back away slowly, waiting tensely for any sign of its location. Again I heard the stalker's cry, this time much closer…and behind me._

_I turned in a flash and saw it bounding across the tundra, steam billowing from its maw as it came. My tribe had drilled in the proper response to such situations, a memory I now know to be invaluable as an automated response._

_I ran._

_I ran fast, and I ran hard. I leapt over the body, rolled through the snow, and leapt to my feet. I saw the canyons to my right, and decided quickly to seek shelter in one of the numerous caves dotting the hills. I hoped that the Stalker had left me alone, instead seeking the easy meal of the body, and decided to check with a quick glance over my shoulder. It remained behind me, quickly gaining on my position. In mere moments it would have me. My heart pounded hard enough to shake my body, my blood boiling with fear and desperation. I turned back to the path before me, and instead felt the ground beneath me disappear. I had run right into a fissure in the glacier. Time seemed to slow for me as I fell, allowing me adequate time to look down at the jagged spires beneath me. I counted the seconds as hours while I descended, each slipping back into nothingness after they had come. I felt the first point on my skin and lodged my eyes shut, bracing for the pain. I never felt the pierce of the cold, instead immersed in a horrifyingly oppressive pressure on all sides, pressing me inexorably 'forward' as I fell. As I began to realize I hadn't hit the bottom, I assumed my death and forced my eyes open._

_The pressure continued for what seemed like an eternity, while my eyes seemed to have decided to take up drinking. What I saw was impossible, my vision telling me things I can't have known. Stars collapsed on realities, streaks of colors that aren't melted seamlessly into feelings of smell that tasted like memories I have yet to make. I shut my eyes again, which seemed to end the encounter. I felt the ground introduce itself to my shoulder, forsaking any semblance of subtlety. I hit the floor hard and rolled into a wall. It was a conscious choice to keep my eyes closed for as long as I did. I was initially afraid the visions would still be there, and part of me was still convinced I was dead. Another part of me hoped the whole thing was just a hallucination, and that in my panicked state I had 'seen' it all while somehow missing the spikes at the bottom of the chasm. It was this part that eventually won out with the simple reasoning that should it be right, there was still a stalker after me._

_I opened my eyes, and doubted them for the second time that day._

Razel shook his head, returning to the present. The incident had been so long ago...literal lifetimes had passed since. The chasm before him was barely recognizable as the same he had fallen through, but he knew it from the rest. Ignition sears the places that witness it with raw, burning mana. A pleasant smile passed over his lips as he remembered the simplicity of his former self, before the academy deigned to seek and end him. With another smile he slipped between worlds, emerging without fanfare or incident impossible distances away, on an entirely different plane of existence. He visualized a simple robe, the fabric falling softly from nothingness to cover him in a less conspicuous garb. With a solid step on the cobbled stones, he strode out of the alley and into the village square.

The market was a blatant contrast from the frozen waste. The locals milled about, chattering amongst themselves whilst they went about their day. The sounds of exotic livestock mingled with the overture of commerce to make a cacophony that was music to the ears of those who frequented the bazaar. Razel’s footfalls clicked on the hewn stone thoroughfare, subdued beneath the oppressive noise. A short few steps took him to a nearby building, the sign above the door crested with a sigil betraying the allegiance of the shop-keep to a local guild. The door opened to an inconspicuous shop, shelves running along the walls to encircle the tables of goods within. Small trinkets glimmered in the shadowy light of the shop, some providing a faint glow entirely their own. The shop-keep himself was in the back, ignoring the door in favor of something which was obviously intensely fascinating. Razel stepped past the bell hung at the threshold, eying a carved puzzle box in the corner. The bell chimed, enchanted to warn the owner should a potential source of income, or even just a looker with a lot of money, find its way in. A few of the other items in the room chirped back, responding to the alarm. The Owner smiled as he put the object carefully back onto the shelf he had taken it from, Turning slowly to greet the customer.

“Welcome to Derrin’s Pawn, is ther-”

His words cut short as he recognized the symbol embroidered into the simple robe before him.

_Orzhov!_

The guild of deals! Derrin swallowed loudly. His shop was rented Orzhov property, and lately business had been less than stellar. A local Rakdos fray spilled over into the shop next door, and when he tried to take cover a stray lightning bolt had struck him. The medical bills were outrageous, and since then he hadn't managed to cover his guild dues. The Orzhov weren’t known for their patience, but their punctuality was another story.

Razel smiled blandly at Derrin, awaiting the rest of his greeting. Derrin fidgeted nervously. Razel kept staring. Derrin simply fidgeted. Finally, Razel spoke up.

“Is there..?” Razel motioned with his hands to get the shop-keep going.

“Oh! Uh...Is...Is there anything particular you’re, uh...looking for? Sir?”

More fidgeting.

“Yes.”

Derrin worriedly looked around, unsure of what to do.

“Can...Can I help you find it?”

The planeswalker strode towards the counter, casually grabbing a wicked-looking artifact off of a table as he passed. Placing it before the owner, Razel continued to smile wanly.

“How much?”

Sweat began to bead on the back of Derrin’s neck as he recognized the item on his counter.

“For...for you sir? Free. B-But be careful with that. These Thought Prisons have a nasty habit of biting the hands that use them.”

Razel’s smile slowly shifted from disinterest into genuine deviance.

“I’m aware of the dangers, Derrin. That’s the reason I want one.”

He placed his hands on the counter, leaning in.

“You’re late, Derrin.”

The shop-keep swallowed once more.

“S-see, there was a Rakdos incident, and the guys next door got hit, and...and...well, people got scared off, but...I got medical bills, too...”

Razel kept smiling.

“Derrin, The Church has sent me to gauge the profitability of your little business venture. We allow you to use this space to sell your goods on the condition that your fees are covered in full. Lately, you haven’t kept up your end of the deal.”

“But, but I have to-”

Razel held out his hand, quieting the owner.

“Don’t tell me,”

He picked up the object on the counter, cradling it gently before Derrin’s face. The sharp spikes caged the brilliant gem trapped within. Razel silently sent a pulse of mana into the stone, releasing a faint glimmer of purple that drew Derrin’s eyes.

“...tell this.”

Derrin whimpered softly as he felt the object start to pull at his mind. Without his consent, the words began to stream from his mouth. Explanations, reasons, legitimate or otherwise. All possible ways for him to disobey his agreement spilled out of his lips and into the stone, which itself grew cloudier and cloudier with each syllable. The deluge of thought ceased as abruptly as it started, and Derrin collapsed briskly over the counter, his head hitting the polished stone loudly. A small trail of saliva crept from his face.

Razel picked up the artifact and walked it to a shelf behind the counter, placing it just out of Derrin’s reach yet well within his view. He reached over and took a ‘not for sale’ sign off of some other random object, hanging it from the spikes.


	2. The Calm Before

Razel stepped out of the pawn shop, his calm demeanor betraying none of the psychic atrocity he had just committed. The bustle of the market quickly overwhelmed the relative quiet of the shop, the cacophony of voices a disjointed chorus in the mortar theatre. He gently closed the door as a courteous habit, turning to face the commerce. A cart rolled past him, missing his toes by less than his arm’s length. The Boothowner across from Derrin’s motioned excitedly to come over, a gesture promptly ignored. Double-checking for passing vehicles, Razel crossed the thoroughfare, ignoring the Boothowner completely and continuing to the square itself on his way back to the local Basilica.

“-so we decided to get six of them...”

“-but not those ones, I need these...”

“-what she said...”

The ‘walker stepped through the crowd, largely ignoring the chatter but quietly listening to each word he caught. More than once coincidence had brought him either great fortune...or great misfortune. Either way, it paid to be aware. The square was busy as always with the daily lunch crowd, many of the patrons carrying a convenient meal. A thousand smells from a thousand places flooded into each other. The sheer number of conversations numbed the ears. Yet, for all the hustle and bustle, the mage smiled. While he began his leisurely trek, a brief spike of nostalgia peaked within him, quickly fading behind the myriad thoughts about his mind.

_There is a very specific feel to the Ravnican Markets. In the Safer parts of the city, Markets are more than just a source of economy. They are a meeting place, a home, a way of life. When the world itself is a city, the realms within are thus magnified. As such, the Markets are very much their own ecosystem. In a bizarre way, the natural order is perfectly reflected in business - applicable to all ‘villages’, yet only truly made apparent in the extreme. Ravnica is very much that extreme. The perfect circle of life contained within that metropolis boggles the mind with the infinite possibility, yet in the end I always remember one thing over the flood of existence that is that plane; the way that anyone could feel at home in an inner city market square._

_The distinction is unfortunately necessary, as the outskirts are host to Izzet experiments and Rakdos ‘celebrations’. However, in the safer parts of the city the markets exude an atmosphere of comfort and brotherhood. The closest approximation I can make is to the recreational festivals of other planes. Each district is its own effective country, each subdivision an effective city within itself. The Tenth District is home to much of the central function of the plane, and as such has the most welcoming of the markets. Each shopkeep knows each vendor, and each patron knows each worker. These people could make for a wonderful democracy. It seems unfortunate that the power instead lies with the guilds. Ten factions each serve a different yet crucial purpose, functioning as the backbone of Ravnica’s goings on. A guild of Law, a Guild of Deals, a Guild of Shadows, and so on._

_My first visit to the plane tied me invariably to one of those guilds. It is a tad disconcerting to one fleeing murderous pursuers to find yourself on a planar metropolis for the first time. Of course, everyone remembers their first time on Ravnica. I had been found by the Academy, and began to ‘walk from world to world, blindly leaping through the multiverse in an effort to leave the most confusing trail possible to prevent the need to open a rift which would consume my path. I eventually backtracked and took a different path, leaving a heavily wooded plane filled with short, fuzzy creatures that looked like small bears to find myself atop a balcony overlooking one of the markets I had mentioned. The stone spires reached higher than any tree I had ever seen. The clearing in the sky above the market square reminded me much of a clearing in a forest. Instead of an expanse of trees, I was surrounded by an expanse of industry. A stone jungle awaited me. As was often necessary before I established my retreat, I prepared myself for a new lifetime on this world._

The Basilica atop the hill overlooked the market imposingly. It was a comparatively moderate, yet grand affair. The building perched atop a raised platform, the sheer walls glowering over the stairway before it. The hill was artificial, since genuine land is nearly impossible to find above the undercity. By Orzhov standards, it was practically an accident. Yet by anyone else’s, it was an impressive cathedral lit by massive censers which constantly spilled a slight cinnamon odor. The windows were stained glass murals depicting local history, although a small fee was charged for closer inspection.

Razel made his way through the pews, passing an occasional servant polishing a random portion of the Basilica. The decorations from a recent festival were mid-removal, and a ladder or two occasionally cast their shadows through the stained light. Stepping past the donation platforms immediately before the altar, he made his way through an unassuming door flanked by two large Thrulls. The awkward constructs paid him no mind, recognizing his energies as those of the church. As he moved out of the chapel, the Church became strictly business.

The hallway was opulent to be sure, but in a much less over the top fashion. Gone were the chandelier sconces, replaced by ornate, magical lights. The spiced scent of the censers slunk sweetly into the rooms beyond. The doors were moderate and professional. At the end of the hallway was an exception: the large, genuine wooden door was open slightly, and the ‘walker heard the tail end of a conversation as he approached.

“-and this is why the church will not approve your little ‘scheme’ to interrogate our...ah. It seems we have a guest.”

The Pontiff, a rotund man of rippling stature, gestured to the open door. Razel stepped into the chamber with a nonchalance betraying his right to be there. The visiting Azorius Justicar was visibly agitated by his arrival, narrowing her eyes to glare things at him that she couldn’t begin to articulate. The Pontiff motioned for him to join them, pointing to a vacant spot beside the Justice. Razel took his time to approach, savoring the irritation he felt radiating from the law mage. He knew the Azorius had sent her to ‘inquire’ about today’s activities. They usually do. It’s not often that a detective decides to actually show up, although it does happen. More often than not the law mage can be bought off, although in Justicar Myra’s case she wanted to get out of this gig and into a better one as soon as possible. Because of that, she became a stickler for the rules. This meant that as the only one willing, she was sent on the routine, yet invariably futile task of the daily inquiries. As she wanted her promotion, she couldn’t possibly accept the bribe to simply ‘write them off’. The specific and prolific activities of Razel in particular brought many inquiries to her desk, and each one meant more time wasted on the inevitable follow-up. The Justicar spoke to Razel through gritted teeth.

“Strongarm Korr of the Orzhov Syndicate. What brings you to the Pontiff?”

The local slang was clearly meant as an insult, as it always was. Razel looked hurt, feigning a blow to his pride with ease and condescension.

“Boarmage Myra, please! You know my proper title is ‘Inquisitor’. If you must be aware, I am here to report on a routine contract evaluation and adjustment.”

The comment seeped through her forced stoicism, a slight twitch in her cheek hidden behind her helm.

“Well. Then allow me to excuse myself, Pontiff. As my requests to Inquire have been denied, I will return to the precinct. Enjoy the rest of your day, your Grace.”

The Azorius agent rose to her feet, stepping bitterly past the Inquisitor while tossing a passing comment as she went.

“Farewell, Bartermage Korr. Stay out of the Law’s way.”

With a slammed wooden door, she was gone.

“I am to assume the Derrin account will not be an issue then.”

Razel returned the smile to his face, turning and looking innocently at the Pontiff.

“You presume correctly, your grace. His initial impression was less than favorable, however I found a delightful trinket within his shop that I felt could benefit his situation, so I purchased it through a guild deal and presented it to Derrin, with interest, as a sign of goodwill and commitment to our agreement.”

The Pontiff nodded, his large jowls swaying slightly with the movement. He stepped away from his desk, meandering toward his visitor.

“This is a suitable interpretation of the situation as relayed by Justicar Myra. You have done well, Inquisitor Korr. Your local Basilica thanks you.”

The large man gestured to the chest beside his desk, the ornate metal locks releasing as they felt his gaze. Razel stepped blithely to his payment, retrieving from within a moderate coin purse stuffed to the seams. The purse alone was worth far more than the sum of its parts, and was emblazoned with a black sun. A swift motion later, and it found a new home within his robes. The lid fell from Razel’s fingers, clacking loudly against itself. After a brief pause, Razel turned to thank the Pontiff.

Instead, he found an empty room. Noting the cracked door leading to another back office, he casually looked about, mostly surveying for witnesses. Satisfied that he was unobserved, the Planeswalker stepped between spaces, leaving Ravnica for the time being.

_I found out quickly that truly being alone was something hard to achieve on Ravnica. My arrival was not without moderate fanfare, as I fear my immediate appearance on a new plane is preceded by visual and possibly audible phenomena. I have never experienced it myself, as obviously I am always on the other end of it; however I have had acquaintances tell me of it._

_It is no surprise that the drunken cultists I happened to apparate in front of weren't exactly sure of what to do immediately. I didn’t much care for their second thought either, as I was trying to flee murderous thugs, not run into them. A brief scuffle led to two unconscious cultists, violently robbed of their will to assault me. I sifted through their things, recognizing a sort of money and pocketing it. A brief rummage through their immediate thoughts told me a little bit about where I was. As I stood to gather my bearings, I saw another figure approaching at a much less threatening pace. The white robes were host to a stark black sun, and the beard draped over it lent its silver to the contrast. I faced the man calmly, already ready to deal with him if need be._

_‘You handled those two efficiently,’ He had said. ‘You should be in my line of work.’_

_‘His line of work’, as I came to discover, was Inquisition. Through our initial conversation, he began to suspect I was not a 'local'. After finding out I knew nothing of the Guilds or their purpose, he quickly filled me in on everything I was missing._

_Well, not quite._

_He realized what I was. I felt his duplicity grow. I heard his tone shift from that of a helpful mentor to a manipulative tool as soon as he caught on, and instead of allowing him to present me before his Debtor I decided to humor him long enough to get behind the old man, where I promptly dissected his mind._

_The confirmation that he genuinely was going to betray me, as always, helped to assuage the initial rush of my decision. I learned of his Guild, the Orzhov, and of a great many features of Ravnican society. I proceeded with a regular removal of his memories for the past few hours before placing his unconscious meat atop the two other bodies on the platform. The rush of information left me much better prepared to step from that clearing and into the brick forest about me._

_‘You’re right. I do belong in your line of work. Not sure you ever did, though.’_


	3. Memoir of Bones

A gentle mist floated lazily along the interior of the spherical cavity. Brief glimpses of the space between spaces flashed through the fog, granting inspiration and madness. Within the bubble was suspended a great shard of crystal, the top cleanly removed to create a large, rectangular stone platform. Atop the crystal sat two buildings, each facing the other. A small shrine sat upon an island of steps which descended into a pool of jet black. The void extended halfway along two edges of the plot, cutting a large rectangular shadow out of the surface. A single bridge crossed the emptiness, marked at small intervals by magically suspended flames. At the end of the bridge the black met a sheet of ice that had grown over the planed crystal. Matching the pool in size, a grand manor ran a horseshoe along the two sides of the plot opposite the shrine. The roof in the front dropped to half the height of the wings, betraying the presence of a terrace above. Two hands rose from the smooth stone of the platform holding the shrine, themselves a creamy porcelain. A second pair followed behind them, all raised to the creature depicted above. A Purple flame blazed between the far pair, leaving violet patterns to dance across the fabric draped over the statue against the back wall. A white mask of the same porcelain as the hands kept vigil over the shadows, and was the lone witness to the space between the hands rending itself apart, coalescing much as water into cracked ice before resolving into Razel. The planeswalker bowed slightly, a sign of respect to the patron before him. With a momentary change of wardrobe, he turned to make his way to his retreat.

Razel floated lazily across the bridge, the black marble door before him growing larger as he approached. There was no visible seam, yet the frost around the steel ring embedded in the center of the door betrayed its existence. A wave of his hand split the door down the middle, bisecting it to reveal the room beyond. A light gust of air snuck into the room. The main foyer was a large, circular affair, surrounded on all walls by books. The floor, where it was not covered by the large rug in the center, was a white marble, contrasting the black of the front door. The transition from the ice outside to the floor beyond was seamless. Great shelves ran up to the floor of the second level, which extended out in a ring along the full length of the room. The floor above was also lined with books, although from the ground much couldn't be seen past that. In the center of the high ceiling was suspended a large filigree sphere, containing within itself a miniature sun. The raw, seething mana produced by the small star was collected by enchanted steel, only to be redistributed elsewhere. The residual light served to illuminate the room, casting harsh shadows along the higher shelves of the first level. Another door stood opposite the front, with two much less impressive doors to the far sides. The far door was raised above the ground on a platform halfway to the second level, against the far wall. Stairs followed the curve of the wall to the doors on the sides, while the wall made by the platform was covered in sconces, statues, and various knickknacks. A small office was set up against them, allowing Razel to step from the front door directly to his desk. The door closed behind him, the grind of marble against marble ignored in favor of reclining in a fine hide chair to enjoy the few moments of solitude. A quick glance to his desk revealed his journal, blown open by the breeze to the very beginning. He smiled as he gestured at the book, pulling it towards him to levitate it before his face. The smile persisted as he skimmed the first few entries.

_[Continued from the journal of Razel Korr, Planeswalker;]_

_I opened my eyes, and doubted them for the second time that day._

_The visceral insanity had subsided, replaced by a cold stone floor. The chamber, close as I could tell, was circular. There were no windows, no portals. Only a single door. The floor was scuffed in several places, and the murals on the ceiling were...uncomfortable. I stayed in that oubliette for at least an hour, shivering and cracking. My body felt different. I felt clearer. I felt cleaner. I felt stronger. I felt smarter. I swore I was dead, as it was the only way to explain the sudden disappearance of all my pain. My mind began to wander, and I began to forget. My thoughts eventually turned to home. The ice, the cold...I could still feel it. Even as my mind began to blossom, shedding memories and sloughing off attachments to the mortal coil, the frost persisted. I focused on it, vainly trying to retain a memory of my origin. The ice that grew from my fingers was the first visible sign that I was ‘different’._

_I screamed, I think. The first time I froze, I shrieked as only one convinced of their own death can muster. The noise seemed to encourage it, as instead of vanishing, it grew. Within moments it had consumed my arm in a block of faintly glowing ice. The shards of snow kept going, and as I watched my Rime encase me, I lost consciousness._

_My next memory is of the boot nudging my side. I cracked my eyes open, and saw a tall male with what appeared to be random stone or steel portions to his body. Where his flesh turned to mineral, it glowed as a warm coal, giving him the impression of being molten within. His appearance was not what surprised me, however. What surprised me was the new avalanche of sensory input I had suddenly obtained. I saw his energies, I felt them weaving about him, and yet I saw nothing._

_“It’s always a bit overwhelming your first time.”_

_He spoke as if he were well versed in whatever had happened to me. This served to spur me out of my malaise and into a sort of action._

_“Ha...how do...what?”_

_I fear I was not quite ready to speak. The newcomer seemed to expect this as well. He spoke clearly and proudly._

_“Congratulations, Planeswalker. You’ve ignited.”_

A quiet clattering stirred Razel from his memoir, his head turning to face the purple-clad skeleton shambling towards him. The old set of bones clacked as he approached, not really saying anything yet conveying precisely what he meant. The book floated gently back to the desk, setting neatly in place as the Planeswalker stood to greet his House Guard. The tight purple fabric clung to its ribcage, betraying a slight bellows as the creature pulsed with magical breath. Bone clicked against bone as it brought itself to a stop, bowing deeply before its master.

“There you are, Woodhouse. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

_Clickety-clack._

Razel smiled as the mute creature spoke.

“The inquisition goes well, thank you for asking. We had a client who was...shall we say...hesitant to pay, but I made sure to leave no trace of doubt in his mind as to what he’ll be doing.”

_Clakety-click._

“If I had thought of that at the time, I may have. Still, I did see the Boarmage afterwards.”

Clatter clatter clatter.

“Yes, I did! Oh, you should have seen the look she gave me afterwards. I could literally taste the hatred seething out of her. No, literally. It was delicious.”

Woodhouse creaked as it bent over slightly, somehow pantomiming laughter. The mage placed a hand on the skeleton’s shoulder.

“I need you to fetch me something before I head out again.”

Unnaturally fast, Woodhouse was at attention.

“Bring me my Witchbane Orb. I fear I may have enemies in my next life.”

The skeleton bowed its head, turning to retrieve the artifact. Razel returned to his chair, raising his hand to the journal as he sat down. Once more it rose at his command, floating gently to rest before him as he picked up where he had left off.

_‘Planeswalker’? The word meant nothing to me._

_“You’re now one of us. Come on, get to your feet and I’ll show you around.”_

_He reached out to me, pulling me up to my feet. A wave of his hand and I was suddenly wearing a robe much like his, sharing design if not motif. I was too dumbstruck to complain. I simply followed him blindly out of that lone door, and into the large room beyond._

_The testing room was built with grand sensibilities. Large arches and grand chandeliers served to impress any who came through the door, while wards were set up in uncountable ways to do and monitor uncountable things. There was a series of doors along the walls, each the same wooden design. The man, who explained his stony appearance as being due to his heritage as a ‘Vulshok’, pointed me to a seemingly random door. I staggered over the smooth floor, gawking at the ceiling like a fool the whole time. The Vulshok opened the door for me, and I was supplanted into a small office. The room had only the one entrance, and was split down the middle by a large desk. The air above the polished woodgrain shimmered slightly with defensive magic. A finely dressed female-looking Golem stood on the other side. The door closed behind me. I distinctly remember feeling very...contained._

_“Welcome to the Academy, Planeswalker.”_

_As if for dramatic effect, several large panels on the desk changed to display a bizarre text. I spied a few images of myself, as well as some odd diagrams. None of it made any sense to me. The senses that had overwhelmed me when I first met the man were oddly cold with the creature before me. It reviewed the things before it, and spoke again._

_“We’ve taken the liberty of granting you a few basic abilities as an emblem of our goodwill. You may notice you can understand what I am saying. Was this unusual to you?”_

_I shook my head, trying my best to express my confusion through my brow. The golem was perfectly still as it processed what I had said. It moved as quickly as it had stopped, and I’m fairly sure I jumped._

_“You do not have much contact with other cultures then? Or do you speak many tongues?”_

_“I...I have never seen anyone outside of my tribe.”_

_Another stillness. This one a bit longer. Whatever it was trying to remember, it must not have in a long time. It finally placed its hand gently on the desk, the displayed words returning to woodgrain._

_“Does your tribe use magic in any capacity?”_

_I continued to furrow my brow. The Golem was clearly immune to physical expression of emotion, or at the very least had chosen to ignore it._

_“You speak to me as if I am still alive. Why are you asking me these questions?”_

_“You are still alive, as evidenced by your being here.”_

_I waited, vainly expecting yet not receiving a response to my second question._

_“Where is ‘here’?”_

_“The Academy.”_

_“What is an Academy?”_

_“Does your tribe use magic in any capacity?”_

_I stumbled over a response before swallowing it. I figured I may as well answer the questions, since I obviously wasn’t going anywhere._

_“My tribe has Shamans. I think. Most of my memories are fading quickly. I...I know there were rituals we would follow to absorb the essence of the glowing dead, but outside of our daily hunt we don’t have time for much else.”_

_“Where does your tribe live? Try to tell me about the land itself. How did it feel?”_

_“Ours is a world of Rime. Cold death surrounded us.”_

_Another brief pause._

_“Let me start by congratulating you on ignition, Planeswalker. Many are capable but few achieve it.”_

_“What is a Planeswalker?”_

_“You are a Planeswalker.”_

_This would get me nowhere. She continued._

_“You have found your way to the Academy. The Academy is a consortium of Planeswalkers dedicated to finding and educating their own. The goal of the Academy is to turn you into the best Planeswalker you can be through unlimited access to our research materials, our training courses and, of course, our staff. We strive to teach responsible use of magic; for that goal we are willing to go to any length, including termination. The unfortunate part of our consortium is that in order to allow our Academy to remain safe, anyone who knows of it must be part of it. If not, they are a liability. Our question to you is this; are you a liability to the multiverse? Are you an irresponsible creature who will throw reality-warping powers about like leaves, not caring for the fabric of existence you tear along the way? Or are you now a member of the Academy, a creature in control of their capabilities, having mastery of their selves? Are you a Liability...or are you a Planeswalker?”_

Razel slammed his journal closed in irritation, tossing it back to his desk.

"What a stupid question."


	4. Damnation

Branches bent sharply as they creaked out of the way of the new arrival. The space cracked with arcs of frozen plasma, the tear composing itself into the silhouette of the ‘Walker. Razel stepped into the thick woods, blithely snapping twigs underfoot. A small filigree sphere much like the one at his retreat floated at the small of his back, the tumultuous vapors within emitting a faint blue glow. He wore a flowing skirt to hide his footfalls, plated kama dangling from each hip. His torso was bare, while his breath was barely visible. The dull roar of celebration echoed through the trees, drowning out the local fauna. As the trek continued, frost began to form around his fingers. Cold began to encrust his flesh, covering him in a thin layer of ice that matched his every motion. The air around him began to fog slightly as it condensed in his wake. The wood abruptly ended at a harsh cliff, overlooking the grand city nestled at the base of the mountain.

Razel peered over the clearing that had been built up defensively over the past decade since his last visit. A few layers of shimmer announced the presence of several magical shields erected over the city, each a slightly different color, some scintillating in opalescent boredom. The city itself was still in the throes of the week-long festival, a sea of revelry and praise to the two great horns rising from the center of town. A monumental gem floated lazily between their high, curved points, signifying to all the glory of the Great Dragon Ol’as. The City’s outer walls were tall and thick, busy with countless sentries and archers. Their eyes lazily scanned the tree line, waiting for an uninvited guest. The majority of the populace sang and danced about, taking the chance to enjoy the once in a decade festival while it lasted, while a few of the older citizens stayed hidden away until afterward. Banners flapped about each street corner, most depicting the horns and their faceted captive. Along the main street, however, the banners shed the bright red in favor of a dark purple, warning away the revelers. A crystalline skull was emblazoned over a blue flame embroidered into the fabric. The fires ran from the main gate directly to the statue in the hub of the city, clearing a path littered with an excess of patrols, warriors, and glory seekers. The road to the statue was set out in anticipation of the Dark force that had appeared some celebrations back, only to reappear at each festival since, never on the same day.

Razel smiled wide as he surveyed the path laid before him, his teeth baring as the flesh crept back from his head, compacting and smoothing below his barren, levitating skull. The frost enveloped the newly exposed skin where his neck used to be, and his cranium began to crystallize. The fog about him thickened, while his rime let out a faint violet glow. His skull, stark within the translucent ice, flexed its jaw within the cold as his sockets blackened into a void. A voice creaked sickly from behind his face.

“ _When will they learn_?”

_[Continued from Razel’s Journal]_

_I found that the door out of the ‘interview’ room did not lead back to where I had come from. I was greeted by the same stony individual from before, who smiled warmly at me._

_“Welcome to the Academy. I’m glad you made the right choice. My name is Rokhi. You can call me Rokh. What shall I call you?”_

_The answer was not readily apparent to me. My mind still felt clouded with various magics, and the fog was very slow to lift. My first answer, I hesitated with. I was unsure of my origin. My mind seemed to have been meddled with, although how I knew that was not immediately apparent. I hid my first name away, and instead offered and simultaneously accepted my second._

_“I...I am Razel. Razel Korr. The choice wasn’t very difficult. Ominous, but not difficult.”_

_Rokh placed a hand on my shoulder, leading me down the extravagant hallway. Busts stared at us accusingly, guiding us to another series of doors._

_“Well Razel, The first thing you’re going to consciously learn here is how to get about. You remember the large, circular hall of doors from before? Before your screening?”_

_His choice of words unnerved me. The fact that I understood them unnerved me more._

_“I do. Similar to this one, but these doors are all different. Those were all the same, mostly.”_

_“Well, here’s the thing; most of the time here, it doesn’t matter what door you pick. What matters is where you want to go. Watch; pick any door, and open it. It will be a small apartment, just right for you...but only if that’s what you’re sure is behind that door.”_

_There were several things I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have believed about that had I access to the knowledge of my previous life, but several things that day still fit that description. Instead, I simply walked to the most appealing aperture and opened it._

_The small cavern within appeared to be completely empty, with a soft blue glow from the ceiling. The room itself appeared to be a hollow in a massive glacier, yet the temperature was of moderate warmth._

_“I sort of cheated,” Rokh explained, “since by telling you what to expect, you expected it. Suffice to say, the doors here take you wherever you want to go within the academy.”_

_It was perfect. I stepped inside, Rokh following close behind. The room, it would seem, had been generated for me immediately following the ‘screening’. Rokh was very congenial, and we spent many hours discussing the finer points of life as a ‘Planeswalker’, as well as the nature of our power. It was explained that I was now a magic user of great potential. The word ‘planeswalker’ referred to an inborn ability to walk from plane of existence to plane of existence at will, which by its nature bestowed a great amount of arcane power. I now wielded a connection to the very fabric of existence about me. As a ‘walker, the ability to warp your surroundings relied on utilization of an energy referred to as ‘Mana’; omnipresent, underlying power weaved through all things. Countless ways existed to collect and redistribute it, from complicated rituals involving absorbing the worship of a random populace to one of my favorites, caging a compacted sun forged purely of the raw mana itself. Rokh went on to explain that the best connection to mana was forged through memories, allowing someone with connections to the energies of the land to draw its power, regardless of distance, simply through memory. With enough preparation one could draw enough energy to cleanse a plane, while on the fly you may only be capable of a quick bolt of plasma. The finer points would be covered in later lessons._

The closest and faintest of the shields flickered wildly as Razel approached, the fog trailing after him as he strode towards the City. A great horn rung out, immediately silencing the celebrations. A few scattered screams pierced the air, but the quiet quickly regained hold. Younger children dashed, confused, to their parents. Older children either ran to hide or to watch, filling the alleys along the main thoroughfare. The citizenry dispersed the path leading from the gate to the plaza, while scattered pockets of soldiers, guards, and desperate priests stood as the only opposition to the dark force approaching.

A small hole appeared in the shimmering shield, widening as the mage approached and sealing neatly behind him. Each of the bubbles followed suit, giving way to the icy presence. The cry of the first archer was followed by a rain of arrows, the closest landing just within the reaches of the incoming fog. His stride unbroken, the second volley missed by the same margin, while the third curved just enough to keep the same distance. The bows were discarded as their wielders scrambled to evacuate the platform atop the wall.

The main entry into the city was a massive door, crackling with protective magic. The sharp white light emitted by the power flashing across the surface served only to thicken the mist, now shrouding the ‘walker within. A lone dignitary stood atop the entryway.

“Dark one! We are not afraid of you! We wi-”

Razel paid him no mind. With a raise of his hand and a flick of his wrist, the wall before him crumbled away as the sudden weight of its entire existence condensed into a single moment. The dust clouded the entryway, pierced by sudden magical assault. Spell after spell ripped down the street, each melting off of the field afforded him by his Witchbane Orb. Wading through the magic and dust, a group of soldiers charged him from the closest alleyway. Each kissed the ground as frozen, bony limbs tore through the pavement to grab at their ankles. The emerging rime-bound dead clawed dully at their victims. A mage stepped forth, his blindfold whipping in the wind as he dramatically lobbed a large fireball. No sign was given of recognition as it warped harmlessly around the fog, not impeding the Dark one’s progress in the slightest. The flame crashed loudly into the building opposite, igniting a banner. Another gesture sent the interloper crashing into the nearest wall. Lurching to his feet, the sightless sorcerer sought escape. The trail of mist behind Razel persisted as he grew closer to his goal. Many of the magicians realized the futility of their tactics, and fled. Two more patrolmen charged him, swords outstretched, screaming wildly. A single hand rose, two fingers directing the shadows that erupted from his feet. The void shot along the ground, absorbing both of the security guards whole. Several of the attention seekers fled, while one stepped up to face their foe. The ‘hero’ swung aloft a large sword, itself leaving a slight afterimage as it went. Grand motions were ignored as the force kept walking, while a single great sweep brought the blade to bear. Razel calmly caught the edge with an outstretched hand, the wielder breaking like glass, each fragment shattering again and again until there was naught but the vapor of a hero. His weapon was thrown recklessly aside, finding new purchase in the heart of a fine bronze statue. The ring of metal on metal echoed loudly. Ahead, a small cadre of druids stood back to back, their shared magic now appearing a dire bear. The Druid’s chant seemed to envelop it, enlarging and enraging the massive thing. With a thundering roar, it loped towards him. The planeswalker paused.

Again he raised a single hand, his bony digits clasped tightly together. He aimed their simultaneous point at the creature, violently splaying his fingers. Arms and legs found themselves removed from their body as the dismembered beast collapsed abruptly to the street, its eyes dimming to the sight of itself. The druids promptly joined the rest of the citizenry in hiding. There now stood nothing between Razel and his goal.

_“You have plenty of new abilities, courtesy of the Academy,” Rokh had intoned. “You are, for instance, capable of omniversal speech. This is why you can talk to anyone and understand them. They will even understand you!”_

_I nodded, still uncertain about anyone doing anything to me while I was unconscious, regardless of how useful it was. The repeated implication that someone had meddled with my mind left me with a lingering feeling of unease._

_“The female in the screening mentioned something about that.”_

_Rokh seemed amused by my referring to the thing as ‘female’._

_“That was a golem, Roz. You’ll see them all over the place. Think of them as artificial servants. They aren’t really male or female, but some do end up with a preference. Go ahead and set up your space however you would like.” He pointed with two fingers, indicating the door before stepping up to it in example. “If you need anything, just focus on the room before you got your screening. The golems there can help you out if you have any basic questions.”_

_He stepped through it, leaving to somewhere. The room itself was to be my home while I studied at the Academy. As I explored the cavern, I found through careful focus I could will things out of the ice. Quickly I began to practice, making all manner of terrible furniture and unusual decoration. Eventually I was pleased with a basic look. With no further guidance, however, I was unsure of what to do. An indeterminate amount of time passed while I debated my next action. Finally, I opened the door to the Screening Hall. With the drawn out help of another golem, I managed to get directed to my first lesson; basic conjuring. The class was small, with less than six students. The room was bare, as if borrowed instead of assigned. Having no concept of time, I was lost in the progress as I studied, practiced, learned, and then returned to my chambers to use. I may have been gone an hour, I may have been gone a month; yet when I returned, the room was precisely as I left it. I conjured decor from the recesses of my mind, adding comforts and features at whim and will. Thus was my initial course structured; If I found I needed to learn something new, I simply went to find direction to a class where I was taught. My classmates advised me that this was normal, and that the self-structure allowed you to progress at your own pace. Once I realized I could be taught anything, I poured myself into my studies, and began to learn._

The path to the statue was conspicuously clear, allowing him to make short work of the trek to the pedestal. As soon as his mist touched the base of the monument, a sea of soldiers erupted from every alley, pouring into the heart of their city. The planeswalker stepped blithely onto the platform, paying no mind to the army descending upon him. A lone priest stood vigil between the horns, gawking in terror as fog rolled over his feet. The cleric shivered uncontrollably as he stared down the force before him. Once more a voice crept from the depths of the Dark one.

“ _Do you know what this is_?”

Sweat beaded down the fine robe as an answer meekly came.

“Th-these are the horns of Lord Ol’as, wh-”

Two fingers rose before the icy ‘lips’ upon Razel’s jaw, silencing the man before him. A light touch to each of the stones brought them to the same fate as the gate, the two dust clouds billowing as the gem landed just behind the priest, cracking the pedestal and knocking the man from his feet. The ‘walker turned to face the way he came, raising his hand high. The same two fingers released a streak of mana, tearing into the sky. The crowd stopped; most looking up, some running back. A small black spot appeared where the energy had ended, growing at a glacial pace. As it expanded, the souls below felt a matching pull. Innocents watched from afar in horror as the first of the defenders began to float, slowly, rising above their neighbors. Limbs flailed wildly as the next then joined them, the tempo increasing with each individual forced into the dance. The militia screamed as they composed their maelstrom. As soon as the entirety of the mob was absorbed into the hurricane of bodies, there came a sudden stillness as they all hung, motionless, just for a moment. Unnervingly sudden and sickeningly fast, the flesh converged on the dark sphere. The grisly conglomerate evaporated noisily into the void, which hung for a second or two afterwards to drip gore onto the street before collapsing into itself.

The swirling mist hid the two figures, now alone in the streets. The priest laughed as he cried, his fractured sanity noting a strange comparison.

"H-how funny...you p-point like that b-blind m-mage..."


	5. Black Sabbatical

_Impossible. Coincidence._

The words of the cracked priest dove into his mind.

'You point just like that blind Mage…'

Fear briefly flared across his periphery, tainted by the following panic. Mists held in the street, screams ceased, and all was still as time slammed to a halt. Razel turned and leapt from the clouded plaza to the building now scarred by the ball of plasma. Ahead, the frozen dead leaned violently over the soldiers, confined in their terrified positions. To the left, the gaping masonic wound smoldered, a droplet of igneous stone glowing as it hung suspended above the ground. To the right, an alleyway leading to an evident dead end. Behind, a pile of what used to be Dire Bear oozed viscera into the street.

No Blindfold. No Mage.

Appearing at the end of the alleyway, Razel desperately sought a sign of escape. The vapor trailed behind him, itself trapped between moments. Despite the frantic nature of the search, he found nothing.

_Just Coincidence…_

Not entirely believing his own words, Razel doubtfully looked about himself one last time, the ice receding from his skull to be replaced by natural flesh. With paranoia still ringing in his mind, the Planeswalker stepped blindly into the eternities, not caring where it spat him out. Time returned to its natural flow, leaving a now ruined festival to gather itself back together. With no preference in regard to direction, the emptiness pulsed around him as the inexorable current of nothingness bobbed him towards a random destination. He emerged without ceremony within a small cave, immediately leaving for more familiar ground. The families of small ursine villagers who sought shelter within the cave were noticeably and understandably perturbed by his abrupt arrival and disappearance. A young one reached out to touch the cracks in the air, only to have her paw slapped away by her father.

_"So what happens if you try to leave?"_

_Rokh had looked at me dubiously, as if unsure of why I would be thinking about this._

_"You remember the speech the Golem gave you, right? About liability?"_

_The memory was now old in my mind, as it seemed ages had passed since then. Somehow I found no trouble in recalling the scene with lucidity. I was once again very uncomfortable._

_"So...they kill you?"_

_His molten hands left his work, resting on my shoulders._

_"We are here to make sure that reality itself is safe. Anyone who disagrees with us is a liability. The Academy has a zero tolerance policy on liability."_

_I remember being irritated with him and not knowing entirely why. My instincts were sharper than before, and they seemed to dislike the Academy as a whole. Yet, so far, my keepers had been nothing but kind and generous. I pressed the issue._

_"How?"_

_"How…?"_

_"How do they enforce this policy? We're Planeswalkers. The blink of an eye and I could be aeons from here."_

_Rokh looked about suspiciously. He knew something. I intended to get it out of him._

_"See...I like you.” His voice dropped a little, and he spoke with a protective zeal."_

_“I’ll fill you in. If only to help convince you that staying here is the right choice."_

_Not sure I believed that. Still don’t._

_"The Academy, as I mentioned, takes liability very seriously. Every single 'walker that has leaves the Academy without consent is logged, tracked, and dealt with. Most everyone who leaves is seeking power in some way, and they think they can get more of it outside. That makes them unstable, and unfortunately, prone to using said power. Again, liability."_

_"Tracked? How do you track inter-dimensional travel?"_

_"Everything leaves a signature, Roz. Every time you 'walk, there is a small wound in the multiverse. It heals, but as with all wounds, there is a telling scar if you know how to look. "_

_Disconcerting. I was beginning to dislike Rokh’s manner of phrasing._

_"Who tracks them?"_

_"Why are you asking me all these questions? Are you considering something you shouldn't?"_

_I gaped at him as I decided against my retort. He raised an eyebrow at me._

_"Roz…?"_

_In hindsight, hesitation was probably not the best response._

_"Of course not. I'm just curious, is all. The Academy teaches us about everything except itself."_

_His smile seemed more bemused than anything else._

_"No, they'll teach you when you’re ready. They just need to know they can trust you first."_

“I think they're after me.”

The Golgari Gardener rolled his eyes incredulously, ignoring his guest and tending his plants. The sprouts grew from the corpses laid in rows, each torso caging a vicious shrub. Beams of light craned through the grates above, piercing the dank musk of the room. The pungent stench of mildew emanated from the wet sewer walls. The plant creatures were mid-gestation, and small filaments of mana crept from his fingers as he caressed the leaves, assisting the growths with scavenging life from the dead.

"First you overreact to that oil spill,”

"Garrus, I explained about that, you can't be too careful-"

“-and now you worry that you point like a blind man? You are losing your edge, Inquisitor. If word escapes that you spook at the gestures of the sightless, you'll have a variety of rude signs to deal with before the next festival is over."

“First off, what signs are you talking about? Second, I-”

"Razel, you're scared. Why?"

The Planeswalker shut up. Yes-fear was at the front of his mind. His normal composure was shot, and his reactions tainted. The torrent of overwhelming emotion had hidden itself from him in plain sight, but a forced calm washed over his features as he inhaled deeply. Garrus continued tending blithely.

"Why do you do that if you don't need to breathe?"

Razel glared across the room, finding only apathy in return as the gardener kept tending.

"Because the intent is enough to induce the effect. Now shut up, I'm thinking."

"You worry too much. More than likely this was just some want-to-be, trying to stand up to you. If this is the same festival as last time, he may even remember you from before. I know you; you tend to make an impression. Don't find enemies where there are none."

"Garrus, you don't get it. These people-"

"-who you can't tell me about for my own protection-"

"-are great and terrible. They will never stop."

"You said you slipped them ages ago. You haven't so much as mentioned them in over a century."

"Precisely why this worries me so!"

The gardener looked at him, incredulity and irritation merging in his ancient features.

“Accept that you're over-reacting. Words sown in madness reap only madness. "

A slight rattling stole their attention, the small plant assassin creeping through the grate at the top of the wall, creaking as it went. It clambered over to an empty body, snugly placing its roots within the soil beneath. Garrus trudged over to gently place a hand on the saproling, his mind reaching out to the simple neural pathways of his creation and absorb its experience. Visions of sugared death danced in his head as the creature's skewed perceptions seeped into him, filtered to remove the hallucinations and learn how its mission had genuinely transpired. Razel took a step closer.

"Success, I'm to assume?"

The gardener nodded, patting the thing gently on the head before walking over to his guest.

"As always. Now, I think you need to get away for a while. Take a break from the Inquisitor. Having a day job working for the Syndicate can't be good for your paranoia."

Razel frowned as he ran it over in his mind. A sabbatical was certainly appealing, but there were too many things he had to consider. He shook his head as the idea dissipated.

“No, I do too much for the Church. I can’t just go. My Debts will build, and-”

“Aught.”

Again the ‘walker paused, taken aback by the suggestion.

“You...I…Why?”

“If your issue is that nobody will do your job, then follow the Aught process and let loose a second. When you return from your ‘recess’, the absorption will ensure you missed nothing in your absence.”

Possibility fermented as he considered the option. Assuming it didn’t go rampant, the idea could work. This, unfortunately, was assuming a lot.

“I can’t. The process is too unstable...there are too many variables, and on top of that, it creeps me out.”

A casual shrug was the gardener’s reply.

“Think about it.”

_My studies exposed me to a great many things. After a point, following the ideas of others began to lose its luster. Inevitably, I would try my hand at the art of spellcraft. One of my first such projects was my attempt to take multiple classes simultaneously by creating a duplicate of myself._

_It seemed like a good enough idea – who wouldn’t want to be in several places at once? If I could find a way to re-absorb the simulacrum, I could theoretically regain all the knowledge and experience it had accumulated, allowing me to make MUCH better use of my resources. My studies took a turn for the multiple. I dug for every manner of copying, cloning, splitting, re-creating, absorbing, and countless other actions. The final process was relatively quick, and would use my own essence to create the copy. Absorbing it would be as simple as plunging my hand into it and…well, absorbing it. An extensive, indeterminate amount of time was spent preparing for the first test, including a number of possible emergency measures. As soon as I felt comfortable with the ritual, I cleared a space in my abode._

_The room was colder than normal, evidenced by my visible breath. My chamber was mostly empty, save the glyphs I had carved into the floor. The diagrams are within my mind, and I can still see them if I focus. The first chant started the sloughing. Gelid tendrils crept from my hands, shaping themselves into a crass reflection of my crouched form. The features sheared into focus, cracking loudly until I was facing…myself. I think the circle got slightly smudged as I scrambled for the scripting I had prepared._

_“You are me. I am you. I am me. You are you. You are an extension of my self. You are ‘Aught’, the first.”_

_Within moments, I saw the realization slowly blossom. Wasting no time and feeling hesitant revulsion, I buried my fingers in his…my… face. My second body gasped as it began to unravel, the rimy flow reabsorbing into my limb. It said nothing._

_I felt the last couple minutes flow into me, and I lived the memories in that moment. I saw myself, but from a different perspective. I heard my words. I felt the fingers pierce my eyes, and then the flow of experience ended. It worked, even if it was not exactly appealing. I designated this new capability the ‘Aught Process’ in memoriam of my first. Many conclusions were cleverly drawn from the experience, leading to a further refinement of the steps involved. I knew that the double would retain my memories, yet have a limited magical repertoire. I knew that the transfer of knowledge worked superbly, and the brief moment wherein I experience it all simultaneously was probably a phenomena not noticed by the outside world. Overall, general unease aside, the first was a success. I began preparations for my second._

Worlds away, the Blind Mage stepped into a small room, his nose tingling at the faint aroma of sulfur and oil.

“It was him.”

The response came from the far corner.

“Are you certain?”

A nod.

“At the very least, he’s one of us.”

“Excellent. Did he notice you?”

“He ignored my flames and threw me into a wall.”

“Then he considered you unworthy of his perception. This works in our favor. Did you follow him?”

A strained pause.

“We tried. He ‘walked blindly, and without intent, we can’t set a trail.”

The voice was not amused.

“And nothing came up when you surveyed the local planar cluster?”

“There was a possible trail to Ravnica, but the scar was of indeterminate origin. There was another which led us back to the festival, although that also lost intent. Everything else is too old to be of use.”

Footsteps met the Mage’s ear as his superior stepped up to him, heat radiating off of the powerful form. The reply was firm and final.

“We know he’s been to the City-Plane, but there’s too much traffic to properly track anyone. Have our Cell in the Tenth District remain vigilant. Else-wise, re-open the other path.”


	6. Aught Process

“It's only a few thousand onto your debt per cycle, which you already clear. Spacious and local. Will it serve your purposes, Inquisitor?”

Razel nodded his affirmation to the agent.

“The proximity to the Basilica is admirable. I can smell the censers even now.”

The agent made a few notes on his pad, then turned and left, shutting the metal door behind him.

The main chamber was darkened save in the glow of the moon roof above, rays of light streaking faintly through his quarters. A night chill crept into the air. With a flick of a button, the Inquisitor's robe fell to a loose skirt, baring his torso. His boots liquefied, streaking off his leg towards the center of the room. Once there, they rebuilt into a moderate wooden crate. His toes hung above the floor as he drifted over to it. One hand reached for the box, gesturing the lid away. Loudly the wood hit the floor, sounding much like a dull bell. Within were a series of somatic components, each arranged neatly in their racks. His fingers danced over them, tapping each once before stepping away to ready his mind. The items rose gently, bobbing about each other as they sought to prepare the ritual.

_Perhaps I am being paranoid..._

Chalk screeched across the stone, the glyphs drawn in a pitch black against the neutral cream tiling. Razel sat cross-legged, midair above the center of the designs. His tools continued in their work, zipping around him to complete their duties. He paid them no mind. His focus drew to the memories he sought to keep from himself. Where they were. How to remove them. Flames cast wicked shadows as the candles blazed to life, settling in the sconces about each wall. The lid replaced itself atop the box after the tools finished the circle, all the trinkets nestling themselves back in their homes. With a loud click, the crate disappeared from the room.

_I am you, and you are me._

Beads of condensation began to collect on his forehead, spreading to his face. The 'sweat' crept over his body, building and building until the slush sloughed off of him, loudly splattering on the floor yet remaining within the innermost boundary.

_I am me, and you are you._

A glow matching the moonshine grew from within the viscous rime, brightening softly. A body began to solidify, limbs pulling away from the frozen form. Features sharply cut into place, evening themselves out until the body below was indistinguishable from the body above. A moment of sadism for a period of sanity...

Razel held out his arm, two fingers guiding the ice that spiraled from their tips. The flow ceased at a second arm's length, now a fresh icicle resembling a terrible augur. As the duplicate began to stir, Razel plunged his drill into the base of its skull. As cold met freshly formed flesh, the Planeswalker tore into the newly minted mind. A faint replica of his own thoughts met his intrusion, which he promptly shuffled through. With surgical precision he removed any knowledge of his true nature, any knowledge of being a 'walker, and any knowledge of anything beyond Ravnica.

With a jerk and a twist, his icicle came loose, sliding free from the gaping wound. The hole began to frost over, slowly reconstituting. Shards of ice slid across the floor as the spike shattered upon impact, discarded once it served no further purpose. The frost melted to cover the rest of the floor, scrubbing the room clean of the visual aspect to their wards. Moans of pain crept from the body. A quick change of face and robe before returning to the ground kept their resemblance a secret. As it rolled over and blinked away the darkness, it saw only a concerned old man in a plain robe.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor Korr? You were caught in a Havoc Festival. The Church graciously offered to house you here at a slight debt.” Korr placed a hand to his head, fingers tracing the pain that radiated from behind it. They brushed away a dewy frost, yet the flesh was fine. The Inquisitor shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“You…You saved me?”

Razel smiled at him.

“Sort of. They mentioned you might have some memory issues. I offered to take you to your new tenement so that once you wake you will be able to resume your duties as soon as possible. The decorating, unfortunately, is your responsibility, but with your financial headway you should be fine.”

Korr worriedly looked at the robe he was wearing, not sure if he remembered waking in it.

“Let me help you up.”

An arm under the shoulder drew him up to his full height, with the two men now looking eye to eye.

“I’m sure you don’t want to entertain an old clerk like myself. I’ll leave you to your devices.”

Following a brief look about the room for these ‘devices’, Inquisitor Korr nodded curtly. Razel took the affirmation and turned to leave.

“Thank you, sir. May your debts be forgiven.”

He stopped in his tracks, not expecting a show of gratitude, and certainly not a sign of respect. He turned his head slightly, smiling back and nodding again, before stepping out the door and into the hall. The chime of the nightly bells covered the noise of his exit from the plane. Inquisitor Korr ran to the door, opening it to empty space. He felt he should be surprised, but dim recollection of other such happenings bubbled about in his memory.

“I hate people that do that...I think.”

_My second double was, initially, everything I ever wanted it to be. I would learn one, it the other. I would research this, it would research that. I delayed absorbing it out of curiosity as well as complacency; after all, it had worked out beautifully so far._

_We would occasionally meet in our chambers and discuss some of our recent revelations. Oddly enough, he was the one who told me of the need for occasional contact with those of your own kind. Being of the level of power that we are, it is easy to get detached from the realms around you, and as a result, end up without your sanity. By keeping a cadre of friends who also happen to be ‘walkers, you allow not only camaraderie, but also the empathy and exercise you can only get with your own. I was informed that he had made a few ‘friends’, and that he was sure they’d like me._

_This, I think, was my first sign that something was wrong. We were, quite literally, the same person, and in due time we would physically be one person as well. To hear him speak of himself as something separate from me was unsettling. I believe I simply nodded, and made my way to the next lesson I had scheduled._

_I think I was more bothered by the fact that aside from Rokh, I hadn’t really gotten to know anyone. I was focused entirely on improving myself. Yet, somehow, a ‘perfect’ duplicate had not only made friends, but also wanted to have me meet them? I felt that the second experiment was over. There were too many unanswered questions and I was not entirely happy with not having the answers. I resolved to absorb him upon our next meeting._

_The course in interplanar communication went swimmingly, and I returned to my quarters to wait for him. As the handle turned, I stiffened, watching for any sign of his form. Light peeked through the crack as it opened, soon met with a man stepping blithely into his room. I allowed the door to close before I leapt for him._

_I expect he heard me, as his jump out of the way would attest. I rolled to my feet, covering the door in a wall of ice to keep him here._

_“Why? Why now?”_

_I stepped towards him calmly, observing the fear in my own face._

_“Why? Why what?”_

_“Don’t play at being a fool. I have our memories, remember? I know what happens at the end of the process. Why now?”_

_I made a note to look into memory manipulation to prevent this in the future._

_“It’s very simple. The experiment is over. Why do you resist me?”_

_“Who doesn’t try to fight death?”_

_“This isn’t death.”_

_“For you.”_

_“Or for you! We return to being one being! How is this death?”_

_“Said the father to his-”_

_My patience had had enough. I think my fingers were knuckle-deep in his face before the body began to gel, slipping back into my palm and absorbing into my self once more. I felt a familiar onset of memory, but could never have prepared for it. A second lifetime seamlessly supplanted itself within me, experience and knowledge overwhelmingly connecting themselves to bridge new insight, discovery, reasons, possibility, and progress. Yet all the consuming improvement could not eclipse the experience. The double had, indeed, made a friend or two. It had spent much of its time worrying about when it would be absorbed, and seemed to have learned not nearly as much as it could have. The memory of Aught tainted its whole experience, lending an overtone of fear to the entire age. It began to think of itself as a creation of mine intended for more than just gathering knowledge, almost convincing itself of a paternal relationship. Each of our encounters that he walked away from reinforced the possibility that he was different, and that he could possibly be his own person. I felt his resolve in wanting to ask me to let him live, which followed with visions of that final encounter, now only moments ago, ending in the outburst I had brutally silenced._

_‘-son.’_

The demiplane was spherical, with a bare platform suspended in the middle of it. A small machine sat connected to a console covered in odd markings, some panels shifting from time to time to display a different configuration. Razel leaned against it, tossing the three objects onto the floor before him. One at a time, he levitated each to inspect and utilize it. First was the stick; simple and unassuming, yet radiating an overwhelming magic that was tangible to all regardless of sensitivity. Next rose a grinning totem, the impish smile implying a devious scheme. Last was the coin, small and silver, shining brighter than it had any right to. Razel held his hands out to them, a dim web of mana enveloping the items.

“My friends...”

The mana pulsed as he spoke, conveying his message across the aether.

“... of late I have found myself in need of like company. If you are not otherwise disposed, please feel free to follow this message and find me at your will.”

The web fell from his fingertips, finding new hold on the floor beneath, now resembling a net as it held the hovering trinkets. The energy flickered next to the machine, which the planeswalker now leaned on to wait.

A good duel will help. Calm the mind. Take my thoughts off of my paranoia. A loud drum echoed through the demiplane, announcing the first arrival. A patch of grass erupted a few feet from him, spitting out a large tree that collapsed onto itself to form the broad, muscular elf. Sun-bleached dreadlocks hung over his rune-scribed shoulders, the vegetation below receding into his boots. His eyes were white, with a faint blue ring betraying the iris. The patterns tattooed across his body rippled intermittently with a blue glow. Razel stepped forward with a smile.

“Kaos! Welcome. Glad you could make it.”

“I also find myself in the presence of mortals recently. A chance to commiserate with fellow demigods is always a pleasure.”

A chuckle from the other end of the plane announced the second guest.

“I love when you talk about demigods, considering your line of worship.”

The white eyes narrowed as any trace of amusement evaporated away.

“Naturally. You invited Iman.”

The black hair sprouted violently from behind the grinning mask, bouncing as he stepped to join the party.

“Of course he did! Someone here has to help keep your gods in check.”

Kaos continued to look sternly at the newcomer. Razel took the opportunity to speak.

“Well, since you two are here, why don’t we liven things up with a quick match, hm? The three of us.”

Kaos turned to voice his opinion.

“What about your other ‘guest’?”

The elf motioned to the coin.

“He’ll arrive when he arrives, if he arrives. Now, shall we start?”

The mane of black popped out of nothingness between them, the attached imp eyeing the artifact supporting his friend.

“Only if we use your arena...thing.”

Razel tapped the machine, apparently turning it on. The space within the sphere flickered, and within moments the demiplane had been replaced by a large coliseum. A magically generated crowd cheered wildly at the trio standing within. Kaos smiled broadly as his runes lit up. The machine faded away, no longer visible yet still controlling their environment. Iman cocked his head slightly, looking about.

“Did you add anything new to the repertoire?”

“Not recently. Nothing you should be aware of, anyway.”

Razel turned to walk away, taking his place so that the fight could begin.


	7. [IK01] – Good Morning

A cold breeze blows down the empty hallway, brushing past you and into the room beyond. You close the door, unsure of exactly what just transpired. Something unnerved you about that old man. He wasn’t right...for whatever measure you could make ‘right’ to be. Now that you think about it, your whole head is a bit mushy. Thoughts congeal and squish, not quite finding the same purchase as before. You manage to focus on locking your apparently new door, noting the fine silver filigree inlaid over the bolt. A fine door for a fine price. The stranger had mentioned something about the apartment being granted to you through a Guild Deal, which meant that your paycheck would inevitably be a bit smaller. Considering your line of work, you can’t say as you’re worried about it. One of the benefits to excelling within the Orzhov is a marked comfort in your surroundings.

You turn to the room you awoke in, taking the chance to tally the possessions you now possess. Candles, lit in their sconces. The walls are a solid black, the painted brick placed atop a beige tiling that covers the floor. A wooden crate is set against the far wall, streaked with moonlight. A glance to the ceiling reveals the sunroof, streaked with external grating. Iron cuts harsh shadows through the creamy light above. The open window allows for the scent of the Basilica’s censers to creep in. The dark corner hints at furniture hidden within the shadow. Otherwise, the room is far too dim to make much out right now. Irritation swells within you as you curse not being able to see through the darkness, unsure of why you expected anything different. You now take stock of your person. Your robes are still there, the same long satin sleeves with the wide magician’s cuffs. The familiar click of your boots still ring true. A small wave of relief. At least some things are familiar.

 _Click, click, click,_ you step proud as you are to your chest, kneeling deftly and placing your hands to its corners. Closely you examine the wood, leaning in to inspect each grain. A dull recognition rings through you, and you slide the lid off the top out of instinct. Trinkets sit within, ranging from chalks and candles to a wide assortment of somatic components. Everything you might need to practice spellcraft, neatly organized in the revealed compact metal lattice. The efficiency of the design doesn’t surprise you, and yet, it surprises you.

Your eyes flutter as you pause, looking about yourself expectedly. The conflicting thoughts bring your mind to a brief halt.

_Um..._

Ignore it. Probably just a side effect of whatever that old stranger had mentioned as happening to you. Come to think of it, what did he say...?

_Havoc festival..._

That's right. A Havoc Festival. The ‘parties’ that destroy entire neighborhoods in a cyclone of hedonistic deviance and destruction. The Demon Rakdos likes to announce them from time to time without rhyme or reason. As an Inquisitor, you’ve been to your share, and never willingly. Unfortunately, thanks in no small part to the Demon's proclivities, they aren’t uncommon on Ravnica.

_Ravnica..._

The city-plane, a realm entirely made of mortar, a concrete jungle in the truest sense of the phrase. Which...you don’t remember where you heard...

These continued memory issues bring a scowl to your face. The slaughter games that some of the cultists play with their victims often result in the physical removal of large segments of the victim's memories. You’ve seen it before, but you had hoped that you wouldn’t see it from this angle. Still, you’ve dealt with worse. The possibility of injury is part of the job. Being an Inquisitor meant being adaptable. On its face, being an Inquisitor is a simple affair; if someone doesn’t pay their debt, you go make sure it doesn’t happen again. The wide varieties of clients have an even wider variety of excuses, and some have a still wider variety of ways of trying to say no. In the end though, Inquisitor Korr always makes sure that they keep their end of the bargain.

_Inquisitor Korr..._

This is your name, obviously. How could you forget? Another brisk shake of your head clears the introspection, bringing you back to your case of components. You slam the lid closed and pull yourself to your feet, making your way to one of the lit candles. The flame flickers as you reach to pull it from the sconce, bringing it closer for a better look. There is a heft which seems unusual to you. The wax is oddly solid, and you notice the flame doesn’t seem to be melting it in the slightest. An ever burning candle, eh?

_Convenient._

Holding the flame aloft, its light brings new detail out of the closest corner as a large wooden desk slowly reveals itself while you approach. A journal or two lay askance, with a series of quills and ink ready to be used. Nothing looks to have been moved since it was placed there however long ago. All of it very conspicuous. All very fake. Almost as if it were being shown to potential buyers immediately before it was claimed. Nothing unusual about that, considering the nature of your injury.

_Injury?_

You figure your injury is whatever decided to decimate your memory. You’d rather not assume that you’ve endured multiple mind-altering assaults. Instead, your focus returns to your surroundings. This new chamber is suitable for your purposes...you think. At the very least, you can find nothing wrong with it. You raise your candle, noting additional sconces above. Gargoyles glower down at you as they grasp their vacant torches. You turn on your heel, heading for the far corner. The shadows by the doorway hide similar decor, but not additional furniture. It would seem the desk was all that came with the apartment. As you note the simplicity of the design, an urge overtakes you to return to the chest. You realize with slow awareness that a magical inspection may be in order as well. There have been times in your career that ‘friends’ have not always been so. Without thinking about it, you toss the lid open before your hands dive into the rack, pulling various materials and shutting the crate as quickly as you had reached for it. Arms full of things, very important things, you turn to the center of the space and prepare a basic circle.

Incantations long ingrained in your subconscious flow from your lips as you fiddle with your materials. You find yourself in a sort of trance as you cast your spell. The wards serve to open the gates of the magical wells within the very foundations of the tenement, allowing you to bask in the mana contained therein. Your mind tingles with energy as the latent power seeps into your periphery. Nothing about it alarms you. Somehow you know that it is safe. Shadows cover many parts of this city, yet this building manages to maintain a brilliant aura of faith and community. You would expect nothing less of an Orzhov apartment.

A slight pulse draws your attention to the hallway beyond your door. Another follows shortly thereafter, and another, each slowly getting weaker than the last. Your curiosity draws you to the door, which opens to reveal a small crack in the air before you. It flickers an unearthly violet as it pulses, and your eyes trace the fractures in space as they recede into the scar.

_Cold…_

The air is definitively cooler the closer you get to the anomaly. The brisk chill that greeted you before must have come from it. Cautiously you reach out to touch it, your curiosity raising with your arm hair as instead your fingers slide through it. Your temporary spell of awareness allows you to see the ethereal mists that follow your fingers as they pass, smokily billowing about. The imperceptible caress tries vainly to remind you of something, succeeding only in assuring you that it is harmless. The very nature of the thing feels like it should be second nature to you, and yet you draw nothing but a blank. You frown again at your incomplete mental catalog. This is quickly getting very frustrating. The pulses are fainter now, and the as the last subsides before your eyes, it leaves a faint ripple in the air. The ether about it dissipates, and you are left with only the comfort of home.

You return to your chamber, ignoring the circle you left on the floor. Another ward won’t hurt. You gather up your trinkets, placing them carefully in their varied containers. The lid clicks as you replace it, and your thoughts turn to your new home. Come to think of it, this is the only place you can remember as being definitively ‘yours’. You trudge through your memories, seeking some semblance of belonging. You have a faint recollection of a large manor, but you can’t place the location. Visions flash briefly of a small shrine, hosting a large statue with countless hands overseeing an eternal flame. The image of the creature depicted is the only thing clear to you as you study the image of a porcelain mask between a pair of brilliant red horns. And yet, there is still nothing that will tell you where you can find it.

_Stupid Festivals. Now I can’t find my own home in this City…assuming It was here to begin with._

You pause again, unsure of why you added that last bit. Of course you had a home. Who doesn’t? Of course it was here. Where else would it be? Why would you even entertain that thought? You put it far from your mind, chalking it up once more to your ‘injury’. As the thought sets itself aside, another realization erupts to the fore.

_Repair!_

You remember a conversation of an indeterminate time past, focusing on a rumor of Mind Mages that are capable of repairing the damage done by the Demon’s Thugs. A smile crosses your face as you decide to find them. But where to begin looking? Seeking the help of the Undercity Excisors might not be the best starting point, since they seem to take a keen joy in removing memories, and pointedly not restoring them. Otherwise, you have no really good leads on mentalists, besides yourself, and you already know that performing mind magic on oneself is always obscenely dangerous. You decide to inquire about it when you next see the Pontiff of your local Basilica. He owes you a favor or three as it is for all of the questions you never asked.

You prepare yourself for a brief foray into the world beyond. You check your sleeves for the components they should conceal, finding only empty pockets. The cultists must have picked them before you were found. Again, this doesn’t surprise you. Thankfully the church saw fit to grace you with the crate of things, which you return to so that you can stock up for the trip. Once you’ve put your parts in their places, you walk out your door, stepping past the now invisible source of cold and down the stairs at the far end. Torches blaze brightly in the stairwell, supplementing the soft radiance of the Izzet-installed magical glow stones. Their power appears to be weakening, as the light occasionally flickers and flares before leveling out. Step after step, click after click, you descend from your apartment to the surface level, making sure to count all sixteen of the flights you take. At the appropriate level, marked by a convenient sign printed in the common tongue, there is a large foyer inlaid with gold enough to make any dragon envious. The thrulls guarding the far entrance pay you no mind, instinctively knowing that you belong. As the doors open, the cool night air rushes in. Your eyes are met with the familiar sea of spires and alleys, and the ever-present droning of city life echoes through the darkened streets as locals mill about for their various reasons. The Basilica’s spire is barely visible from your front plaza, and the smell of spices is stronger at surface level as the thin fog absorbs the scent. _Click, click, click._ You make your way toward the church.

_Let’s get some answers._


	8. Hook

The crowd shrieked wildly as the Planeswalkers strode to their corners. The volume rose as a fourth appeared unceremoniously in his corner, drawing the attention of the other three. Razel turned to the newcomer, grinning at him as he did.

“Sudaj! Glad you could make it!”

The arrival was wrapped in a coat with the sleeves torn away. The jacket was bound tightly to his chest by several ties while his arms were bared, revealing the countless scars he had brought upon himself. A ritual blade was slung at his hip, designed not for assault but for drawing his precious fluids. It was clear that he had not yet learned to completely control his form as he adjusted a strap or three.

“Sorry I’m late, Roz. I’ve been following this lead on something recently.”

A quick surveying of his surroundings filled him in on the goings-on.

“I see I arrived just in time?”

He looked to the other ‘walkers present, smiling to Iman. His eyes widened as he saw Kaos, the radiant eldritch power emanating from the elf clearly alarming him. Iman took this opportunity to chime in.

“Shall we?”

A great gong rung out, signaling the start of the duel. Sudaj, caught unaware, stumbled his way over to his corner. Mana began to flow through the combatants, and abruptly the space shifted. The coliseum was replaced by a clearing atop a great ship carting several flying machines. A much smaller simulated crowd now cheered them on, and an oddly catchy tune tore through their ears. The music kept an unnerving sync with their every action, emphasizing the slightest of their motions. The grinning imp bounced in his corner, the floor beneath him taking a paler tone than the surrounding black pavement. Sudaj eyed his opponents warily, his own watery essences seeping through the platform beneath him to pool at his feet. A second elf stepped from the nothingness, standing before its master. Razel simply snapped his fingers, coalescing a skeletal champion wrapped in frost to his side. The frozen features hung suspended within the cold crystalline aura, magnified slightly by the ice. Sudaj hurriedly pulled his blade, drawing it across his arm and flinging the blood on the ground before him. A glow crept from the fluid, flowing to his wound and seeking refuge behind his eyes.

The elf seemed to take offense to this, charging the inexperienced mage. Kaos gestured blandly, sending a vein of power into the creature and causing it to grow to giant proportions. A massive elven fist introduced itself to Sudaj’s face, sending him reeling into the railing behind. Iman’s mask began to widen, the solid grin broadening as a faint chant escaped the carved teeth. The Elf turned to face the noise, finding only a ring of light enveloping him as he was suddenly incapable of motion. Sudaj muttered an acknowledgement.

“Thanks...”

Kaos glared at Iman, calling another elf to his side. The two summons looked to each other, seemingly unaware of their near identical features. Razel ignored them as the ice encasing his Rimebound Dead thickened, emitting a soft blue glow as it sharpened. Again the world flickered, now taking them to a village shrouded in mist. Kaos spoke up, commenting on the new scenery.

“Oh, thank Emrakul. If I’d had to listen to that damn song one more time...”

_Planeswalkers do some very odd things for fun. Part and parcel of having nigh-omnipotence, I would think. While the concept of magical duels is an ancient one, as with most things, Planeswalkers tend to take it to an extreme._

_The Academy had a very interesting room within it designed specifically for dueling. It was a small demiplane unto itself with the capability to simulate any environment you could imagine. It was intended to keep the fights fresh, while also training you to be prepared for anything. While proper magical combat was not on my schedule until much, much later, I watched many of my fellow students go at each other with next to no mercy. I gained much inspiration from these encounters, often finding a new line of research or a possible solution to a problem that had been plaguing me for a while. Watching the rushed decisions of others can often have that effect._

_“So how do they change the arena?” I had asked Rokh during a particularly hectic match._

_“It’s magic, naturally. One of our Artificers generated this demiplane, then built a console that creates the varied illusions which make it up. If I remember correctly, he actually asked to copy locations from the memories of the students so as to make it as realistic as possible.”_

_Rokh gestured at the combatants for emphasis, pointing out the fact that within the arena’s ‘bubble’, you could not see the crowd watching you. Instead the interior would portray more of the locale, presenting a seamless and endless expanse._

_“But how do they change it?”_

_As he so often did when amused by my seemingly obvious questions, Rokh smiled at me bemusedly._

_“When you’re in the pit, you can focus your energies on the console and attempt to shift the plane. This can be a good thing, or a bad thing.”_

_“How so?”_

_“Well, say you need to focus on the fight at hand. If you spend all your time trying to go somewhere else, I’ll have no problem torching you.”_

_This made perfect sense. Pour your energy into one thing, you have less for another._

_“Then why bother?”_

_“Some places will assist you, while some will hinder you. It varies.”_

_At that time, he pointed to a creature one of the combatants had called to his aid, who now appeared to be airborne._

_“See? Now it can fly. Before it was stuck on the ground. Now, if the opponent can change where they are, that creature will lose that ability; however, you never know what’s coming up next. It may get even bigger and nastier, or it may die entirely. You never know.”_

_As if on cue, the plane shifted, stealing the air from beneath the creature, sending it careening to the ground like a stone. As it landed heavily, a small goat appeared before the other ‘walker._

_“Some places give you...livestock?”_

_Rokh just grinned._

_“You never know...”_

The frosted dead shambled towards Kaos, bony icicles reaching for warmth. The second Elf turned to intercept, thinking twice as an unearthly moan emanated from the skull chilled within. A quick leap to the left brought Kaos paradoxically closer as the Rimebound Dead suddenly and unnaturally warped itself to him, scraping a large series of gouges from his chest. The wounds erupted with blinding light, allowing the skeleton to retreat back to its master. Sudaj looked about the fog worriedly, his fears justified by the sudden appearance of Razel immediately behind him.

“Boo.”

The accompanying shriek was cut short as Razel clapped his hand over Sudaj’s mouth, the masochist’s eyes fluttering as his essence was slowly drained from him.

“Oh, come on. You toss your life force about like water, why can’t I? Don’t be such a pans-”

A green fist caught him much as it caught Sudaj, except harder. The benefit of stealing vitality was immediately offset by the concussion, while the wall that attempted to catch him collapsed from the force of the body knocked through it. Sudaj dropped to the floor as Razel’s palm left his lips, a wisp of his soul flittering out as he hit the ground. Kaos strode purposefully towards the jacketed mage, who now attempted clumsily to pull himself off the floor.

“Again with the elf? Well, if you can repeat yourself, so can I.”

Kaos stopped and scowled, not even bothering to look for Iman as he waited for the inevitable. Another ring came tearing through the fog, isolating the second elf much as the first. Sudaj seized the opportunity to attempt a cheap shot, thrusting his blade at the distracted Shaman before him. Kaos simply ignored the stab wound, turning slowly and speaking to the Imp as he stared down the interloper.

“You want variety? Fine.”

With a flare of his markings, the rings dissipated from his minions. Both elves hurried back to their master, wasting no time in adding their power to his own.

“I think it’s time you actually met my G-”

All things ground to a halt as time ceased to flow. A faint clattering announced Razel’s escape from the rubble as he surveyed the scene before him, noting the now free elves as well as the aura belonging to the devious Invisible Imp floating just behind Kaos, in the only blind spot he had. His attention turned to the new sources of mana aside Kaos, recognizing the scheme he had in mind.

“Oh, HELL no.”

Taking advantage of the time he had left to himself, Razel turned his energies within and began to pool as much power as he could handle. Fog began to swirl around him, speeding up with the passage of time as it returned to normal.

“-ods!”

Sudaj was the first to notice, scrambling to his feet and taking cover. Iman abruptly came into focus, his grin leveling into a grimace as he caught on. Kaos, assuming the fear was intended for him, simply grinned. It wasn’t until the bolt of void tore through the air beside him that he realized who they were looking at. The two elves exchanged worried looks, floating gently before beginning their own death spiral. The skeleton joined them, while the other ‘walkers simply stared as their accoutrements flapped about them. The bodies collapsed on each other as they were drawn into the sphere of emptiness, their viscera falling loudly into a puddle of former flesh and bone.

“Really? You damn my priests without at least waiting for their friends?”

“Well if I wait, you’ll make use of them.”

“Do you honestly think I need them?”

His eyes overflowed with seething fury as the blue glow of his irises intensified. Two grand monoliths tore through the cobbled stone behind him, their own ancient auras merging with the Shaman’s. A crash of thunder and a spike of lightning tore between the two towers, opening a portal at their apex. A writhing mass of tentacles crept through the opening, seeping into the realm with a sickening squish. Sudaj’s eyes, somehow, got even wider.

“Oh dear.”

Iman called down to the others from atop one of the spires, the mass of flesh still making its way into the realm.

“Do you need these? Since you were so careful with my precious rings earlier, I thought I may as well return the favor.”

Kaos simply glared into the distance, ignoring the imp but knowing exactly what was coming.

“I hate you so much.”

“I know.”

With a click of his heel, the tower beneath fractured, collapsing deafeningly into a cloud of rubble as the portal seized, severing the tentacles from the creature beyond. The writhing limbs flopped about in the ever-growing pile of entrails.

_“The realm between realms is far from empty,” the professor had droned. “...in fact, there is one species that is actually native to the eternities. Today we will discuss the Eldrazi.”_

_Rokh had, for some reason, insisted I take this course. Apparently he felt being aware of the dangers involved in interplanar travel would be useful or something. Go figure._

_“The Eldrazi are unique in that they are not associated with our classical varieties of magic, instead consisting of pure, unaligned mana. Indeed, these antediluvian horrors actually feed on the energies of the realms they invade, rending the very fabric of the realm from its seams. There are those who worship these creatures as Gods...”_

_The professor droned on and on about the various lineages, citing the Titans and their foul brood. I will admit to having difficulty staying awake about halfway through, instead seeking clarification from Rokh._

_“So these ‘Eldrazi’, what do they look like?”_

_He seemed to find the professor as boring as I had, judging by the lack of expediency in putting away the book he was reading._

_“It depends. I’ve only ever seen a few of the spawn, never one of the titans. It was a horrible amalgamation of features, as if it couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to look like before it gave itself a shape. Hideous. I’ve seen some horrible things, but if the broods are any indication, the Titans themselves will induce madness simply by existing.”_

_I took him at his word, his oddly repulsed tone intriguing me. I decided to leave the conversation alone. Rokh didn’t mind at all, returning to his tome._


	9. Line

As the pile of bodily residue ceased squelching, tentacles slowing their writhing, Kaos blithely wrenched the blade from his side to toss it aimlessly behind him. Iman drifted gently to the ground, leaning back briskly to avoid the knife, which flew through his mane of hair. As he watched a small clump of hair flitter away from him, the imp could not resist the opportunity for another taunt, his tone mocking as the voice echoed from behind his mask.

“Bitter much?”

A sudden assault came from his left, masses of dirt pluming as a giant Wurm propelled itself out of the soil and towards Iman. Kaos smiled as he turned, his pleasure growing more visible as he watched the creature land directly atop of his tormentor before tunneling below as rapidly as it had come. The elf’s smile morphed into marked curiosity as he turned to speak to Razel, who looked genuinely surprised at the occurrence.

“Nice shot, frost mage. But why does your Wurm look different?”

Razel’s blank expression perfectly met his tone.

“Because that wasn’t my Wurm.”

Kaos opened his mouth to speak, instead turning to face the curiously loud rumbling behind him. The trails of dust betrayed the creature speeding his way, while the emerging maw left no doubt as to the source. Glistening rows of teeth missed him by inches, instead sideswiping his dreads and hurtling towards the unprepared Razel. With no time to react, the creature engulfed him whole, disappearing back into the earthen floor and leaving behind a cavernous pit. Kaos’ eyes widened at the sight as Sudaj snuck out of the tunnel left by the massive beast. His arm dripped with blood as another wound casually stitched itself shut, a trail of red following his feet. Iman appeared beside the mage without warning, the sudden apparition startling Sudaj off his feet and back to the floor yet again. Kaos’s runes flared brightly as he called his energies, the remaining monolith thrumming as he drew power from deep within it. A crack of lightning tore into the dirt, a sign of Kaos challenging the great Wurm in defiance to come for him.

Iman’s grinning mask was joined by a stern helmed soldier, solidifying itself from the clouds of fog and dust that had been kicked about. A scale was held in its outstretched hand, awaiting orders from its master to forcibly balance the field. Sudaj slunk away, clambering to his feet and dusting himself off as the two of them watched his antics idly. The imp spoke blandly to his opponent, seemingly unimpressed by the goings-on.

“That was a decent shot, rookie. You aren’t as terrible as I had thought.”

Another faint rumbling grew from behind Iman, his pawn looking back before tapping him on the shoulder. Iman turned to look, grunted in affirmation, and then proceeded to calmly face the oncoming creature. Another eruption of dirt gave way to the beast, the segmented monster leaping high into the air in an attempt to swallow the two before it in a single motion much as it had the last. At the apex of the leap, fractures appeared at the seams of its mandibles, growing as the tears streaked down its body. The flesh split into five strips of what used to be a massive Wurm, now nothing but residual parts. Iman cocked his head in curiosity while Sudaj let out a cry of dismay. As the meat crashed wetly around them, Razel landed with forced grace between his fellow walkers, looking significantly worse for the wear. Large gashes across his chest slowly sealed themselves with frost, while his robe remained torn. Entrails hung from his clothes, and he was clearly not amused with the turn of events. He coldly addressed the masochist before him.

“Very well done, Sudaj. Except there’s only one problem with your little ‘scheme’.”

Sudaj frowned worriedly as he replied.

“W…what’s that?”

Razel forced a smile, lacking empathy and instead radiating the aura of a serial killer.

“Your Wurm wasn’t big enough to finish me off.”

_I quickly learned to ignore the illusion of pain. Being a creature composed entirely of my own will, pain was nothing more than an autonomic response, and if honed, could be ignored entirely. My ‘body’ was only a manifestation of the Rime seated deep within my soul, and my injuries would heal abnormally fast so long as I maintained a connection to the energies of the lands around me. This became a necessity as I began to partake in duels of my own. As all inevitably do, I failed miserably on my first several attempts. More than once I found myself on the receiving end of things which would have utterly decimated anyone who was simply mortal, and I quickly realized that to let it affect me was to accept defeat._

_The first duel wherein I stood victorious was, surprisingly, against Rokh. I don’t think he had expected me to stand back up after the flaming axe had embedded itself within my chest, and I KNOW he was not expecting to see it dissolve away as if it had never been there to begin with. After I nearly drained his life in its entirety, he proceeded to forfeit and afterward advised me of the value in secession._

_“Admitting defeat is not a bad thing,” he had said. “Sometimes, it is necessary. Especially in Duels between Planeswalkers. Sometimes they get carried away, and the only way to ensure your own survival is to acknowledge their victory.”_

_This lesson would, quite literally, be pounded into me as I slowly learned the basics of magical combat. Spell after spell, monster after monster, I faced countless things and survived countless more. As my experience grew, so did my victories. Soon enough I was holding my own, and in no time at all I was respected, if not exactly liked._

_One spell specifically has served me well up to this writing. After the failure of the second duplicate, I sought a method for removing specific memories from an unwilling mind. The golems of the foyer were accommodating as always, and after a course or two in basic memory manipulation I somehow found myself with permissions to access the Academy Library so as to research through their countless tomes for a spell that would suit my needs. Seemingly endless grimoires filled the shelves, each more ancient than the last. A nameless binding hid my prize, the entire book dedicated to a single spell. After following the appropriate procedures to request permission to take it back to my quarters, I returned to my frozen cave with new reading material. The helix on the cover tapered to a fine point, and the rituals within described a sadistic sacrament capable of being used in a hurry to much smaller effect, or with power enough, to completely decimate your enemy’s thoughts. Only in the last chapter did it include a way to utilize it for a temporary assault, almost as an afterthought to the terrible capability contained within. I’ll never forget the first time I held my arm aloft, watching as that wicked augur spiraled from my two fingertips to form the instrument of trepanation._

The air surrounding Razel began to thicken as the temperature dropped abruptly, while a dead hand punched through the ground in front of him to pull the rest of the zombified knight from its earthen grave. Crystals of ice sprouted from within the rotting corpse, expanding into a suit of full plate armor, while the black blade it drew out of the empty crypt shimmered with a fine layer of dew. A fierce snarl escaped its undead jaws, bared teeth emitting a plume of fog from behind the horned helm that had grown over its head. Kaos stepped up to the group, completing an awkward circle as a large bird with fancifully colored plumage swooped down to perch atop his shoulder. Iman and Kaos looked on in amusement as Razel stepped menacingly towards Sudaj. Razel raised his hand, pointing two fingers towards his quarry. Tendrils of crystalline cold twisted from their tips, fusing into a fierce icicle which was easily the length of his arm. Sudaj began to backpedal away, his feet quickly discovering a stone behind him and forsaking a semblance of balance. Razel disappeared, reappearing in the space immediately behind the mage. He dropped to his knees and slammed his frozen spike deep into Sudaj’s head as gravity brought him down upon it. Kaos, Iman, and their servants cringed as they observed Sudaj’s expressions, shifting from fear to joy to misery to a bland lull of the tongue. The frozen knight stepped beside them, all five faces cringing in unison at the gruesome display. When it was over, a violent jerk tore the drill from the victim’s skull, while the ice constituting the weapon melted to a puddle of simple water, dripping from Razel’s digits. Sudaj fell once more to the floor, except this time he seemed incapable or unwilling to get back up. Razel shook the droplets from his hand and addressed his companions.

“Sudaj yields.”

A shared look between them spurred the imp to reply.

“So we see.”

Without missing a beat, Kaos and his bird disappeared just as the blackened blade of the dead whipped through the air, cleaving Iman’s servant cleanly in two. The mask simply drooped, looking saddened and disappointed as the scales clattered loudly to his feet.

“Aw, come on! He never even got to do anything!”

Razel glared at him as the Knight stepped in for another swing. A loud screech echoed about them, and he turned to face the bird of fierce plumage now diving for his head. His Knight turned to look as well, the distraction granting Iman enough time to reach out and tap it lightly on the chest, causing a seam of light to shatter the undead. The residual energies funneled themselves through his mask, ignoring their creator and aiding their enemy instead. Distracted by the bird, Razel attempted to duck, succeeding only in gaining deep claw marks along his back. Bright feathers swooped back into the air above, escaping their reach as quickly as it had entered it. Razel stood to his full height once more, now visibly fatigued. The battle was drawing on, and he was beginning to show it. His breaths came in ragged sets as Iman stepped up to him, placing a hand on his arm as he spoke through the tiki grin.

“I think I’ll let you two duke this out. I’m going to see if I can’t get Sudaj back to...well, not ‘normal’, but whatever his standard is.”

_One of the hardest lessons for me to learn was nothing involving ritual. No glyphs to memorize, no incantations to repeat. Rather, the lesson which took the most time to sink in was the visceral nature of the magic itself. I came to learn that spells relied significantly less on the manner of casting and much more on the intent behind it. The difficulty came in part from the first few lessons I took, each teaching me spells through repetition and study. Admittedly, as I look back now those lessons were designed to teach me to seek the desired intent, however unlearning those lessons would be an effort lifetimes in the making._

_The Sadistic Sacrament was a perfect example of this. The book itself said nothing about how to cast the spell, instead focusing entirely on the results and the initial intent you would have. To paraphrase, you have to seek the quickest way into their mind, then force your way in and rend the thoughts from the still-thinking consciousness. Such a terrible thing could only be controlled through practice, and for this reason the spell was deemed as evil. What manner of man would willingly rape the mind of his peers over and over again, only to learn to do so more effectively? It is in this respect that the duels served me well. I did not have to seek a subject for my machinations; rather, they would willingly come to me. In the arena, there were no restrictions. Only ability. The initial assault was sloppy, but effective. My opponent was left just dazed enough that I could gain the upper hand. With time, I honed my skill and my drill until I was able to remove entire segments of their self wholesale. I can remember even now a duel against a sorcerer of the plains, his mind home to many reinforcements and ideas._

_I rent them from his head and spat them upon his unconscious flesh._


	10. Sinker

Razel turned his eyes to the sky to scan for the creature above. As Iman slung the unconscious Sudaj over his shoulder, a shrill cry pierced the air, seemingly from all directions. The haggard ‘walker drew ragged breath, more out of residual habit than biological necessity. He was hurt, and it was evident. The forced ignorance of his own pain only served to frustrate him further, as his reactions began to slow with no apparent reason. He continued to scan the skies, his once bemused smirk now a bitter scowl.

“Stupid birds...”

A flash of violet mana rebuilt the zombie servant from the parts about him. The undead warrior plodded over to its master, awaiting further orders. Kaos’ booming voice echoed through the fog.

“You’re looking a little worse for the wear, Roz. I bet it’s your zombie friend there. Isn’t undeath contagious? Lemme help you with that.”

Razel rolled his eyes as he watched the vines streak out of the ground, ensnaring the frozen knight and slamming it to the floor, compressing the icy plate until it shattered and then continuing as it segmented the animate corpse. He reached down to pluck the black blade from the muck, saving it from the crushing grasp of the tendrils. The elf appeared in the fog, facing entirely the wrong way. The irritation blinding him to an obvious trap, Razel stepped between spaces to reappear directly above Kaos, turning the sword in hand to point down at his opponent. Kaos looked up at his falling foe, not budging in the slightest. His voice rolled from within him in amusement.

“Not quite what I was expecting, but…”

Almost halfway to the ground the cry rang out again, heralding the imminent intervention of the fowl creature. As the blade drew to within mere feet of Kaos’ dreadlocks, a flurry of feathers shot into Razel’s side, rippling with mass as Kaos’ magic enlarged it substantially. The weapon flew from his hands, lodging itself in the dirt below as he landed with no semblance of grace. Through blurred vision he spied Kaos stepping up to him, plucking the sword out of the ground as he stepped to his opponent. The world faded to black as Kaos’ runes pulsed with victory.

_Failure is something you learn to accept rather quickly. When faced with beings who are just as capable as you are, you are inevitably going to find someone who will gain the upper hand, be it through skill or circumstance. Group duels are cases where this tends to show significantly more than elsewise. One on One, I am respectable. One on Three, I face almost certain defeat. This says nothing of the skills of my peers, or even the places we fight. It is simply the way of things._

_Thankfully, learning to fail gracefully is something you pick up very early on in your career with the Academy. The lessons are learned firsthand, and after several rather humiliating defeats you learn the best way to bow out with a measure of pride. I tend to simply close my eyes and accept it. Once I know that I will not emerge with victory in hand, I acknowledge it. The resulting period of unconsciousness, although a period of marked vulnerability, allow my form to begin reconstituting itself. So long as you thoroughly trust your fellow opponents, there is no real danger in this. However, outside of controlled circumstance, I advise precisely the opposite. When your very life is on the line, fight back as such. Accepting your limitations is only applicable in a trusted environment._

“Wake up already. You’ve been healed for a while now.”

Iman playfully kicked at Razel’s side, the dull sensation spurring him out of his visions. Faint images of the city he recently left fled from his mind, muting themselves into the bare emptiness of the demiplane around him. The Planar Simulator was off, the machine still droning on as the static energy coursed through it. Sudaj was leaned against it, his face sour with his defeat. Kaos nodded at Razel as he took to his feet, while Iman simply cocked his head. The imp spoke to the elf.

“That was a decent tactic. I wouldn’t expect someone of your...brute skill... to be capable of manipulating our fine inquisitor friend here.”

Razel chuckled.

“I’m not an inquisitor at the moment. I’ve stepped away from the City for the time being. I need a break from the guilded life. Seriously though, good job with the bird. I should’ve seen that coming, but...well, you know how I end up when I get impatient.”

Kaos turned to face Sudaj, who seemed preoccupied with nothing in particular.

“I couldn’t have done it if our new friend here hadn’t blindsided you with that Wurm.”

Sudaj looked up and smiled artificially.

“If you two hadn’t have been preoccupied with Kaos’ gods, I wouldn’t have had the chance to call it in the first place. It seems infighting is the downfall of us all.”

Razel titled his head.

“That reminds me...”

He reached behind himself, pulling a large book from nothing at all. The cover looked to be tanned flesh, and the pages were ancient. The script transcribed atop it was illegible, yet pristine. He held it out to the elf.

“Here’s your book back. Very interesting to be able to read about your gods from a worshipper’s perspective. My only education up to this point had been very clinical. I especially like those that can summon the rest. Spawnsires, I believe. Which lineage were they from again? Ula-”

“Don’t say his name.”

Razel stopped abruptly, shrugging and gesturing an apology.

“No offense meant. I know you don’t like the uninitiated to refer to them by name.”

Iman stepped up to Kaos, initiating a banal conversation intended obviously just to needle him. The ice mage stepped past them, meandering over to Sudaj.

“Hey, uh...sorry about the augur to your head.”

Sudaj’s face flickered with fury, fading fast into feigned indifference.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. Can’t take these things too seriously, you know? It’s just a duel.”

Razel smiled warmly, the attempt at consolation unnerving Sudaj even more.

“Fabulous. So, while we’re on the subject, I saw something while I was in there. Your mind, I mean. You’re on the trail of something, right?”

The masochist raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to react to being asked about his own memories. He responded nonetheless, hiding his irritation rather well.

“Yeah...There was a rumor about something that caught my interest. I was on some immaterial plane and heard a story of a creature that sounded like it was from anywhere BUT there. I decided to investigate, but the story only got weirder and weirder.”

Razel’s voice dropped, getting disturbingly serious.

“I saw that you had succeeded in finding it. Was the image of the creature itself accurate?”

Sudaj looked confused, narrowing his eyes as he replied.

“Of course it was. I found the corpse right before I got your summons. It had a small scrap of parchment nearby, and seemed to have been caught unaware. The words were unusual, but I could make some of it out.”

“Did you touch it?”

A single eyebrow raised well into his forehead.

“No...?”

Razel was visibly relieved.

“Grand. You can never be too careful. So, do you mind if I tag along on your little quest? I need something to do anyway, and I’m sure I’ll come in handy.”

Sudaj looked about, his confusion growing with his curiosity.

“...sure?”

“Fabulous!”

Razel turned to face the now bickering Planeswalkers behind him.

“...just tell me their names!”

“No.”

“I won’t say them. Honest!”

“No.”

“GUYS!”

They both stopped to look at him.

“Sudaj and I are going to head off now. Thanks again!”

The imp and the elf stared blankly, responding simultaneously.

“Alright.”

The two returned to their argument.

“So tell me already!”

“No.”

Razel turned back to Sudaj, motioning inquisitively.

“So! Where is our first stop?”

Sudaj shrugged.

“I heard something about a realm the thing may have come from. It was mentioned on the scrap beside it. I think I know where to find the plane it was referring to.”

“Why wait? Let’s go already!”

_It is not uncommon for Planeswalker to grow bored with their existence and seek amusement through other means. Aside from duels with other ‘walkers, I have myself often found reprieve from boredom by researching and locating various things for various reasons. It allows one to hone their abilities to track and investigate, making you simultaneously both more aware and more prepared for anything that may come your way. Serendipity is a much larger factor than you would expect, and pure luck often plays into the day to day life of a ‘walker. There are times I have suspected a guiding force behind our actions, some ‘great director’ driving our circumstances towards predetermined ends. Of course, I’ve also had direct contact with various divine entities, so I suppose anything is possible._

_Through the growing of my own deductive skills, I have learned to pay attention to everything I can in case the synchronicity speaks to me. This lesson, as so many, was forced into my mind in the Academy. I should have paid attention to the signs surrounding me much sooner than I did, but in the end I suppose it would not have made a difference._

_One day in particular I found myself wondering something that should have been obvious. I approached the golems as I had countless times before to inquire about a course._

_“I want to learn how to Planeswalk.”_

_Their response was succinct and expedient._

_“We do not currently have any open classes covering that subject.”_

_I was obviously taken aback by this. How could they not have a course on this? Isn’t it supposed to be an intrinsic part of us? I decided to try a different avenue._

_“May I request access to the Library?”_

_The construct racked a few keys on its desk, and gestured to the door behind. I entered the hall of knowledge, approaching the automated clerk._

_“Where would I find books on Planeswalking?”_

_The clerk responded just as quickly as the Golem, which seemed suspicious. I wrote it off as efficiency._

_“We do not currently have any books on that subject that I am aware of. You are welcome to check the unsorted shelves in the back, however.”_

_I made my way to the large, circular room and began to browse the countless spines. Nothing reached out to me. I began to suspect something was amiss when I felt an igneous hand on my shoulder. I turned to face Rokh, recognizing the sulfurous smell that accompanied him._

_“Rokh! Why aren’t there any books on ‘walking?”_

_The Vulshok had looked at me as if the answer were blatant, although it evidently was not._

_“Roz, you should know that. Remember the speech on liability?”_

_Obvious, in hindsight. Why would the Academy train folks to leave and willingly unleash untrained ‘walkers on the multiverse? I did not agree with it, but it was logical._

_“I...huh. True. So what brings you to the Library?”_

_“Well, I have consulted with my superiors and I think we can get you into a class that will teach you to ‘walk. You’re an exemplary student, and you’ve shown no reason not to be trusted.”_

_I hadn’t heard him refer to any ‘superiors’ before this point._

_“How very cryptic of you. Explain.”_

_“You once asked me what I do here. How would you like to find out?”_

_My curiosity quickly overrode any discontent._

_“In what way?”_

_“How would you like to do it as well?”_

The grasses swayed in the breeze as the two ‘walkers strode into the world, the plain surrounded by a sparse ring of trees. Sudaj looked about as Razel consulted a small device in his palm, comparing mental notes to the information it relayed.

“It matches the description you got.”

The masochist was visibly irritated by his tone.

“I wish you would stop referring to my memories as if you could see them.”

“To be fair, I kind of did.”

Sudaj scowled at his companion.

“That’s not the point.”

Razel shrugged, dismissing the emotions of his compatriot out of hand.

“Well, we’re here regardless. What’s this place called?”

Razel knew, but out of courtesy he allowed the masochist to answer for himself.

“The only reference I could find referred to it as M’laer.”

“My Lair? Are you sure it wasn’t just referring to home?”

“It was spelled out. And also not like that. So shut up.”


	11. [IK02] – You’re Mistaken

A day’s walk is something you can always enjoy, which is good since you do a _lot_ of walking on Ravnica. Your nostrils flare as the scent of cinnamon permeates the air around you. The air clouds while censers billow a thin, spicy smoke as the incense within burns slowly. The Basilica looms over you, tall spires of ivory stone topped with animate sculptures watching for enemies of the church. The faint screech of bats in the belfry rings out before the loud, resonant gong of the bells. The guardian thrulls scan the street, their dull grey skin stretched tightly over their artificial frames. The golden masks hiding their faces are perfectly still as you draw near, the owners ignoring you as you approach the massive doors. You press your hand against the spiral grained hardwood, opening the door to the sanctum within.

Long pews stretch far into the nascent light of the nave, the altar at the end glimmering as a thrull servant polishes it gingerly. Streaks of smoke are lit by colors cast from the stained glass high along the walls. Your boots click solidly on the marble floor, sounding as though they should remind you of something. The lack of memory serves only to highlight the purpose for your visit...to find someone who can restore the unceremonious damage done to your mind and fill the sinister void scraping at your subconscious.

_Click, click, click._

You look up to the windows, noting the scenes of local history immortalized by the glazier’s practiced hands. You spy an image of the Tablet of the Guilds, showcasing all of the Guilds’ sigils with a slight lack of accuracy to allow the Church’s symbol to reign on top. The artistic interpretation extends to the very sigils themselves, with the Boros fist appearing rather phallic and the Dimir eye missing entirely. The design must have been installed before they became public knowledge. The next window shows a stylistic representation of the Obzedat, the ghostly council that runs the Church of Deals. The gaunt figures loom over those who come to worship, oppressively reminding all of the promises and requirements involved in their choices. The massive chandeliers glow brightly in a row down the center of the room, illuminating the high ceilings and the murals they display. Images of punishments, Martyrs, and countless other moments of note threaten to overtake the eyes. The sheer deluge of visual decor is overwhelming. The occasional worshipper sits within the pews, worriedly counting their coins and mumbling small prayers under their breath before placing the gold on the collection plates carried from debtor to debtor by the nearest attending thrull.

Nobody seems to notice your presence you as you stride purposefully towards the back of the hall, heading instinctively for the gilded aperture leading to the rear offices. The moderately sized door berths to a long hallway, and you suspect that a significant portion of it actually rests beneath the buildings behind the Basilica proper. Rich or not, even the Orzhov have to make due with the limited space available on an ecumenopolis. Elegant sconces line the effluent pathway, while identical square doors break the monotony at marked intervals. As you approach the final door at the end of the hall, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself to do something you aren’t sure you’ve done before...call in a favor from a superior.

The pristine handle turns silently, well-oiled hinges allowing the door to glide open without so much as a creak. The opulent desk is covered in an assortment of neatly stacked documents and occupied by the local Pontiff, a large rippling man whose jowls seemed to move slightly slower than the rest of him, jiggling as he goes. His robes are the traditional white with gold trim, while black accents attempt and fail to slim his figure. He looks up from his papers to smile at you.

“Inquisitor Korr! I had wondered when you would return. We have missed you these past several days.”

You close the door behind you, making your way across the crimson rug to sit yourself in the grand hide chair before the clergyman. As you cross your legs and exhale calmly, you try to hide your anxiety. It feels unnatural to you. Your disharmony is evident, provoking a raised eyebrow from the official.

“Is everything alright, Inquisitor?”

He wheezes slightly as he speaks, and a subtle mumble creeps into his voice as he relaxes his tone.

“Your grace, I fear not. I have been missing these past few days due to a Havoc festival I happened to be caught up in.”

The pontiff cocks his head, curiosity written across his face as he speaks to you.

“I had not heard of a recent festival. Where was this?”

“I do not know. This is the crux of the issue. My mental faculty has been...compromised.”

His other eyebrow follows suit, the expression now one of surprise and concern. You get the impression that he had not expected you, specifically, to ever fall victim to a situation such as this.

“Do go on...”

You continue.

“My memory has been tampered with. I lack large tracts of recollection, and I am only aware of it due to the older man who saved me and brought me to the appointed tenement.”

The mention of the old man seems to mean nothing to him. He bridges his fingers and narrows his eyes, looking you over. His air of nonchalance quickly fades as he responds, replaced with a tone of seriousness fitting of the situation.

“So why have you come to me, Inquisitor?”

You take another breath, looking him square in the eyes as you prepare to play your ace.

“I’m certain you remember the ‘special’ assignments I have assisted you with. The debtors you wanted to forget, and have forgotten.”

He remains still as a gorgon’s lover while you explain.

“I am here to do something I had hoped would never be necessary. I need a favor.”

The Pontiff smiles once more as he looks down to his papers, chuckling softly and placing his hands on his desk. His jowls jiggle as he leaks his mirth. You maintain your demeanor, inwardly hoping he does not perceive this as a threat. Your entire position could be in jeopardy if he got the wrong idea. He looks to you again, his grim glower softening into a bemused smirk.

“I suppose this was inevitable. You know, of course, that if I help you...IF...this will be out of respect and nothing more.”

You nod back, thankful that he did not call guards to forcibly remove you.

“You are lucky in this instance. I am very fond of you, and you are a benefit to both this Basilica and the Church proper. You have proved your worth countless times over. This is not common knowledge, but I worked with a series of healers before acquiring my current wealth and standing. I was...well, I was quite the repairman in my time. Between the Dimir Excisors and Rakdos’ thugs, there was never a shortage of diminished mental function.”

He stands, sliding the chair back loudly as he does so and stepping heavily around his desk to stand beside you. You turn in the chair, facing him boldly as an equal.

“I was unaware of your previous standing within the church, your Grace.”

“Most are.”

He strokes his chin while he walks behind you to the other side of your chair, speaking blithely to the portraits hung on his walls.

“You have, as you mentioned, assisted me greatly in the past. Honestly, were it not for your particular brand of help, I may not be here today. Let it never be said that I am ungrateful.”

For a few moments you face him, tracing with your eyes the golden sun embroidered upon his back, watching carefully as he considers his next series of actions. He turns to face you, putting his hands behind him as he speaks to you firmly and without room for question.

“Very well. I will see what I can discern from your injuries, and if possible, recover them. There is no small amount of danger in this, however. Should this be the work of the Guild of Shadows, I will be putting myself at risk simply by attempting to undo their efforts. They do not take kindly to others meddling in their affairs.”

You nod curtly, knowing that his willingness to assist was unsafe for all involved. He meanders to the back of your chair, placing his thick hands on your shoulders.

“Are you ready, Inquisitor?”

You close your eyes and brace yourself firmly against the seat.

“No time like the present.”

His meaty fingers cradle your skull firmly, the fluidity of the motion thoroughly surprising you. Within moments, you feel him reaching into your mind.

The shock of a second presence within your sense of self causes you to jerk violently, stiffening and seizing as the invasive presence roots painfully about your consciousness. Your vision flashes and flickers, while brief glimpses of your past pop up and dissipate just as quickly. You grasp the arms of the chair, your nails shredding the hide upholstery as you constrict in reflex. The experience seems to last for a lifetime, and after an indeterminate series of agonizing moments the knives withdraw from your skull. The Pontiff pries his fingers from you, leaning against the back of your chair and gasping as you collapse forward, barely catching yourself before you obtain a concussion against the desk.

The Pontiff waddles himself to his chair, resting heavily against the furniture on the way before tossing himself forcibly into his seat. His face is soaked with sweat, and he breathes with a rugged meter implying the length of time since he had last attempted something such as this.

“Well...I have news for you.”

The ache growing from your temples screams at you from within. Pain radiates with no catharsis, and you can remember nothing more than before. You grudgingly drag your head up to face the clergyman.

“Do...do tell.”

He wipes a large amount of sweat from his brow, flicking it carelessly onto the rug below. His lips are tinged with blue, and he has clearly expelled much effort on your behalf.

“This is not Rakdos’ work.”

You sigh heavily, shaking your head in disappointment. You had almost expected as much, but to actually hear it spoken depresses you.

“Of course not. Why would this be easy? I’m involved.”

The pontiff chuckles darkly, interrupted by a series of loud coughs as his lungs protested.

“This is too surgical for the Demon. Yet, in the experience I’ve had with the Dimir, I’ve never seen something like this. I fear I was unable to restore any of the thoughts you have lost. To my skills, the memories you seek are not available. I am sorry, Inquisitor, but I cannot help you in this regard.”

You shake your head in defeat, the ache subsiding slowly as you do. You begin to resign yourself to a life of regretful curiosity when he speaks again.

“However, I may know someone who can.”

You look up quickly, the hope on your face drowning any resignation you may have shown.

“This is going to cost you another couple of favors, however.”

The attempt at humor does not escape you as you smile back at him in affirmation.

“Of course, your Grace.”

After several deep breaths, the Pontiff looks about himself cautiously, leaning in to whisper his next response. The caution shown by the undisputed master of the building unnerves you more than a little.

“I know of an Excisor who has worked with me in the past. As this must be Dimir work, only the Dimir can undo it. He owes me, and I assure you this comes at no small cost to myself.”

It is now your turn to narrow your eyes in suspicion. The intrigue surrounding your acquaintances seems without end.

“If I tell you when and where to meet him, you must swear to me that you will share the information with nobody beforehand. I am not worried about afterward, as I am certain that he will take care of that himself.”

You bow your head to show your sincerest gratitude.

“You have my word, your Grace.”

He lowers his voice to a barely audible level.

“There is a door in a bar in the fifth District. It is marked with a sigil you will recognize upon seeing it. The bar is obvious to those who seek it, especially if they are one of your particular talents. You will notice those watching it as they notice you. He will be waiting inside.”

“Who will?”

Your question is ignored.

“When you find him, you will need to give him my name as proof of identity. Tell him Pomas sent you. He will take over from there.”


	12. Elven Greetings

The wind whipped through the reeds, rustling the robes about the two Planeswalkers as they stood idly, soaking in their surroundings. The sleeveless masochist looked to his companion, noting the odd fogging of his breath in the warm air. Sudaj voiced his curiosity.

“So how do you keep so...well, so cool?”

The response was bored at best, as this was something Razel thought should have been obvious.

“Side effect of being myself. My constituent is Rime. I’m literally made of ice.”

“But...wait. How do you...I, mean, you have hair, and...”

Razel sighed in frustration. Now and then he would forget that others did not have the privilege of lifetime upon lifetime of study and training.

“Look. Your body, whether you realize it or not, is manifested entirely by your will. As a Planeswalker, you don’t have a physical form. Only a representation of what your consciousness believes you should look like. In my case, the mana which coalesces to shape my solid self is icy and chilled, a direct representation of my persona. Yours is...whatever yours is. That’s one of the reasons we’re so hard to kill. We’re literally nothing but a residual self-image. Only magical items can permanently affect us.”

Sudaj looked confused, ignoring the conversation and looking about himself again.

“Well anyway. We’re here, wherever M’laer is. This is the place mentioned by that...thing.”

The image of the foul creature flickered within their minds, blackened oil seeping in memoriam as they recalled its hideous shape. The parchment grasped tightly within its claws was blurred, save the portions Sudaj could decipher at the time. A rough planar map, as all of them inevitably were, was scribbled across the page, with a set of directions clear only to those versed in interplanar travel. Conspicuous to those who would know, otherwise simply a mystery.

Razel shifted his outfit, standing nearly nude in only a simple skirt. Sudaj followed suit, unsure of the reason but certain there was one. The trees at the edge of the vast clearing were tall and ridged, belying a tropical climate. Local fauna cried out in their daily course, oblivious to the two alien entities.

“So...why are we in skirts?”

“Because it’s a simple outfit that can be found most anywhere. We want to be as inconspicuous as possible, remember? Have you ever had a mob try to run you out of a town, not realizing you could leave whenever you wanted?”

“Well, once or twice, but I’m usually able to hold them off.”

“No sense of subtlety.”

Razel sighed heavily once more before continuing.

“Look. Being a Planeswalker is dangerous business. Just because you wield grand cosmic power doesn’t mean there aren’t those who can either stop you or kill you, and it certainly means there are those who want to do both.”

Sudaj shrugged apathetically.

“I guess. You’re in charge, man.”

Razel looked at him quizzically.

“I thought this was _your_ quest?”

Sudaj seemed slightly agitated by being thrust back into the lead, as if he were more comfortable as a subordinate.

“Uh...right. Well, the thing was known to sneak around and abduct random people. I suppose we should try and find a similar situation here to start.”

The rime mage nodded in affirmation.

“Not a terrible idea. Find a civilization, listen in for rumors of similar occurrences, and then investigate. See? I knew you had it in you.”

“Of course I did...”

_Rokh was unnervingly cheery about the whole affair. He proceeded to take me to a training room lined with racks upon racks of various curiosities, while the orrery in the middle of the room whirred quietly. Inevitably, I asked the most obvious of my questions._

_“So what is it you do, exactly?”_

_His smile is something I never got used to. He had a flair for explanation, and seemed to take great pride in his work._

_“Well, I’m sure I’ve beaten the whole ‘liability’ thing into your head by now. Should anyone leave our Academy without permission, we must take care of them by either bringing them back or removing them from the equation.”_

_I considered speaking up, however, he quickly changed the subject._

_“Do you remember when you asked me how we can track interdimensional travel?”_

_The conversation was one I often considered in my free time. I believe I simply nodded._

_“Well, the reason I know is because I happen to be one of the faculty here that actually does the tracking. Matter of fact, I’ve spoken to my superiors and they have agreed to let me train you as one of our hunters as well.”_

_The prospect of learning to hunt my own kind was appealing in a sadistic way. It had practical application, to be sure._

_“Does this mean I’ll be taught how to ‘walk?”_

_His vigorous nodding implied a giddiness that I was uncomfortable seeing in someone who had effectively admitted to casual homicide._

_“Absolutely. Kind of hard to planeswalk without knowing exactly how. Now, this particular training area is set up with something built to keep you from leaving.”_

_More of his uncomfortable phrasing. He gestured to the metal device in the middle of the room. I began to feel a subtle tugging within myself the longer I looked at it._

_“What is it?”_

_“We call it a ‘Planar Well’. Think of it like an extradimensional whirlpool. Any Planeswalking activity within a certain radius of it will be drawn to a point of our choosing. The range varies based on how much power we feed into it, but this one is relatively weak. We keep it in this particular room to ensure none of our trainees get ‘lost’, so to speak.”_

_A dim light lit within my mind._

_“Is that how I came to be in the Academy in the first place?”_

_He had tapped the side of his molten head with two fingers, grinning at me as he complimented my cleverness._

_“You catch on faster than most. You’re absolutely right. We have a series of considerably large wells stationed about the multiverse designed to catch wayward Planeswalkers that have just ignited. This way we can be sure to find them before too much damage is done.”_

_“So why don’t we just set up one giant one for the whole of the Academy?”_

_“You know how the doors aren’t physically connected? The Academy itself isn’t one specific place, but rather, a countless series of demiplanes spread across the Multiverse. There’s no singular ‘Academy’. The power requirements necessary to keep a series of Wells up and running across the whole of our establishment are ludicrous to even consider. Aside from that, there’s the possibility of marauding Eldrazi.”_

_I remembered the conversation we had had, and the contempt in his voice was practically tangible._

_“Those Eldritch things? You mean they notice them?”_

_“Precisely. It amounts to a Beacon for them. We’ve only had it happen once or twice, but from time to time they’ll get pulled into one. We had to designate special teams to deal with them, even though we’ve only ever had to eliminate broodlings. Even I’m not certain we could fend off a Titan, should one find their way here.”_

_I felt changing the subject was wise._

_“What about Non-Academy ‘Walkers?”_

_“We make them the same offer we make to all the newcomers. They’re just more likely to decline. The good thing is that if they try to leave, they’re already within range of a Well.”_

_Good thing, he said._

Sudaj wiped sweat from his brow, having completely forgotten Razel’s lecture on self-image. The trees swayed high above them as the roots tangled about their feet. Creatures cried out further on, while the soft burble of a nearby stream covered the pair’s already quiet steps. Razel looked aloof, casually strolling with no preference for direction. A faint presence caught Sudaj’s attention, spurring him to speak as he looked around worriedly.

“I think we’re being followed.”

Razel continued on his way, not looking back or even appearing fazed in the slightest. He seemed to ignore his friend as he spoke.

“They’ve been on our trail for a while now, but they’re edging closer. Don’t let them know we are aware of them, otherwise they might-”

The whistle interrupted him as an arrow buried itself within Razel’s shoulder, the unnatural force of the blow pinning him face-first to a nearby trunk. Razel began to scream things that were certainly of a profane nature, utilizing the lack of necessity for breath to belligerently voice his opinion.

“JUMALAUTA! KYRPA OTSASSA-”

Sudaj backed against the same tree the rime mage was loudly attempting to remove himself from, noting the several masked hunters that emerged from the branches above to drop lightly to the ground before them. Razel found himself fuming as the pain that shouldn’t be there overwhelmed him.

“-VAI A CAGARE-”

The trackers circled the duo, making certain there was no chance of them escaping by any conventional means.

“Uh...Roz...”

“-VERPUS! WHAT?!”

Razel struggled against the arrow, frustration building as he attempted to slide off it and was somehow incapable. The masks were of a design that was simple, yet menacing. As they drew closer, one of them nocked another arrow, letting it fly into Razel’s other shoulder to pin it to the trunk as well. His protests returned, slightly louder this time.

“KRIJG DE ZIETKE-”

The string of insults kept flowing as the leader of the group stepped forward. His bright red mask was lined with a variety of bones, some resembling teeth while others served a mysterious but doubtlessly dangerous function. He stood before Sudaj calmly, listening to the rantings of the captive ‘walker before removing his mask to reveal a fair elven face, the points of his ears swept back to cradle his braids. His expression was serious, yet slightly amused. The rest of the party prepared their arrows, directing them at the masochist in defense as the head elf spoke.

“Tell him to be silent.”

Razel tried vainly to turn his head to face the newcomer.

“-PESTKOP! YOU JUST SHOT ME TWICE WITH MAGIC DAMNED ARROWS AND YOU WANT ME TO BE SILENT?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT _STINGS_?!”

He breathed heavily, but refrained from continuing in the hope that cooperation would get him released faster. The leader again spoke to Sudaj.

“You noticed us before your friend here. You are clearly the more aware of the two. You are not from around here. Am I mistaken?”

Sudaj hurriedly nodded in affirmation, not wanting to discover firsthand the reason behind Razel’s pain.

“Good. We will not kill you if you agree to help us.”

Sudaj simply kept nodding. The leader motioned to Razel, prompting two of his tribesmen to pluck the arrows from his shoulders. He spun to face his aggressors, the wounds freezing over as they healed. The leader cocked an eyebrow in interest at the sight.

“You certainly aren’t from around here. Maybe it won’t succeed this time.”

Razel slowed his superficial breathing as he narrowed his eyes, responding irritably.

“What won’t?”

“The beast that has been abducting members of our tribe.”

_”The first thing you want to remember about planeswalking is that it is a part of you. You aren’t really going anywhere in the classical sense. You’re almost going nowhere.”_

_I contemplated his words. The sensation I had felt before I wound up at the Academy was foggy, although I could easily recall feeling pressed on all sides._

_“First thing I want you to try is not going to a specific plane, but just slipping into the Eternities. You know of the Eternities, yes?”_

_Obviously I did. The space between spaces, the realms of madness, endless names for the place where there were no places. If each plane were a bubble in a frothing soup, the eternities would be the stock between them._

_“You know that I do. We’ve been in classes covering them.”_

_“Just making sure. Now, reach within yourself and try to simply ‘go’. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter where you end up, since the well will bring you back. Let me show you. Try to watch my aura, see if you can get a feel for it.”_

_In a series of what I’m sure were unnecessary actions, he raised his arms and crossed them, closing his eyes and holding his ‘breath’. Without warning he disappeared, reappearing in a spark of sulfurous flame on the other side of the room._

_“I’ve done that. Stepping from one point to another is easy. All you did was teleport.”_

_He raised an eyebrow._

_“You’ve done it? Well, first off, what do you think planeswalking is? You simply teleport along a path that takes you OUTSIDE the realm instead of through it. Second, I don’t believe you. Prove me wrong.”_

_I took his challenge at face value. Looking within myself, I sought to go from where I was to anywhere but. As I took my first step, I saw Rokh take a step to the side in precaution before the overwhelming weight of existence threatened to crush me. The draw of the well immediately forced me back to the training room, wherein I now found myself where Rokh had stood not moments before._

_“Well...wow. I certainly didn’t expect that. Congrats, Roz. You’re the first to get it on your first try. You just took a step towards being an elite among equals.”_


	13. Not an Option

Leaves seem to evade the elves’ feet, instead crunching under the plodding of the captors dragged behind. They stopped at a trunk of moderate size and kicked it firmly, signaling the operator higher up to grab the winch and go to work. From ground level, the village was nearly invisible. Tall trunks stretched into the canopy above, with occasional breaks streaking light to those below. A pulley creaked quietly overhead as the small lift crept closer and closer, colliding with a sad clunk against the roots beneath. The hunting party filed into it with vigor, ascending to their retreat while the Planeswalkers were left with the captain and a guard. Their ears twitched subtly, implying awareness of things Sudaj couldn’t begin to notice and of which Razel was already over with.

Razel took in the captors. They were built atop a solid humanoid frame, used to a life of hunting and climbing. The leader, as well as all the warriors, had multiple braids woven into their hair, with less braids indicating higher rank. The Leader’s three braids, one per side and one atop, swept back with his ears. The Guard watched them as the creaking stopped and began to reverse. The restraints placed around the Planeswalkers’ wrists were a brilliant topaz, outshining the midday light. Sudaj looked about himself in awe, taking in the full extent of the scenery. Razel simply scowled.

As the lift descended again, the captain spoke to his captives.

“We’ll be taking you to see our shaman. He will decide our course of action from there.”

Sudaj piped in.

“What are our options?”

“Well, either we’ll kill you or he’ll have us send you after the beast in the woods, which will probably kill you.”

Sudaj joined Razel in scowling.

The trees grew high into the air, a drop that would kill most things forcing several vines to be lowered from the supports above to allow the Elves quick access to a survivable fall. Like emerging from under a body of water, the lift broke through the floor level, revealing a vast network of structures built onto the very trunks of the trees around them, joined by occasional platforms, bridges, and pathways to create a grand village in the air. A central rotunda sat atop a cleared trunk, leveled with the floor to allow a clearing in the space above, illuminating most of the village. The locals watched the two ‘walkers uncomfortably as they were shuffled towards the town hall, their trademark elvish xenophobia manifesting brilliantly for the guests. The guards tugged them to a stop before they began to cross the bridge to the building, while the Captain turned to speak again.

“We’ll take you to see him one at a time. I want to make sure nothing happens while I am away. We all have magical weaponry here, so don’t think you’re free. You-”

He snagged Sudaj’s manacles.

 “-I’m taking you first. Come with me.”

Razel shrugged an apathetic affirmation as his companion was dragged off, disappearing behind the red curtain in a wisp of incense and smoke. Turning to the remaining Guard, he took the opportunity to needle his captor for amusement.

“So…come here often?”

_After mastering the basics of leaving a plane, I found teleportation within a single space to be that much easier. Learning the harder questions made the easier ones more obvious, so it was only natural. Rokh seemed just as pleased with my progress as I was. He eventually led me to a different room through two sets of doors, which I now knew to mean that we were within no semblance of proximity to the room before. The literally unimaginable distances involved allowed the next part of my training to begin far away from a functioning Planar well._

_“Next lesson... Going somewhere. You’ve got the gist of going nowhere first, but by learning to direct yourself you will learn both how to do it properly and how to track it.”_

_By this time I mostly ignored his phrasing. I was used to him implying things I wasn’t sure I wanted to know yet._

_“So now I want you to step out of this place and feel around yourself for a beacon, a pulse, some sort of draw. There’s really no better way to describe it – You’ll know. Just trust me on that. You go first and I’ll follow you.”_

_I left the forgettable chamber and stepped into the seething maelstrom of the eternities. I kept my eyes open, knowing not to trust anything they told me. My traditional sense of direction is worthless there. The basics don’t apply, and directions I can’t begin to articulate were preferred to our usual six. I bobbed about until I felt it – a definite beacon, a flare of power within the space between spaces. I was acutely aware of it regardless of my orientation, and it was as a lighthouse suspended within a storm. I reached out to it mentally, only to find myself quickly shunted into its host reality. The monolith was etched with countless initials, and the trodden grass around it implied heavy traffic. I surmised that this ground must have been used to train considerably more ‘walkers than just myself. As I had reached out to touch the stone, Rokh appeared behind me, immediately breaking out in excitable chatter._

_“Very well done! Quick, simple, you didn’t waste ANY time or effort! Very efficient, I like it. A little easy to track, but you already show enough control that we can fix that.”_

_I think it took him a minute to realize I wasn’t going to respond. He had then pulled a small chisel from his pockets and handed it to me, motioning to the stone._

_“Go for it. We all carve our initials after our first ‘walk.” He gestured at a set of characters a few feet from the top. “See? There’s mine. There’s my trainer. There’s that white mage you stomped last week.”_

_I managed to understand the sounds they were meant to make, and a brief image of those who carved them flashed in my mind as I looked them over. I took the implements and etched a “KX” in a small space free of graffiti, focusing on myself and my achievement so as not to make Rokh question the shape of my letters. I didn’t want him to ask me anything too personal, and I knew he had the same magical enhancements I did thanks to the Academy._

_A benefit of omniversal speech is that it translates intent as opposed to literal words, making a significantly more accurate translation than otherwise. This has actually backfired on me in the past when I would miss colloquialisms or local turns of phrase, instead being brutally honest about everything. Not always a good thing, especially when you’re attempting political intrigue and all the subtlety is lost to you. Sometimes the problem goes the other way, and something comes across as so layered with meaning that you are incapable of deciphering it regardless. Either way, while it’s not a perfect spell, it certainly has its uses._

A shuffling inside the hall silenced the two outside, and shortly thereafter Sudaj stepped out smiling, with no restraints on him. He smiled at Razel as he passed, saying nothing and standing by the guard. The captain stuck his head out and motioned for Razel to come inside, prompting the guard to jab him in the ribs in an attempt to hurry him along. The scowl returned as he trodded along the suspended bridge and through the curtain, a strong herbal aroma completely wiping the fresh scent of the forest from his nose. The captain led him down a spiraling hall to a suspended partition, motioned him through it, and then returned to his post atop the stairwell. Razel stepped from the plain wooden hallway into the circular room, the windows carved out of the walls allowing a pristine view of the forest beneath the village from all sides of the supporting trunk. The walls held trophies of various kinds, some mere skulls mounted to the wall, some less biological but revered just as much. A single Shaman sat at the far side of the room, breathing deeply of the aromatics as he looked over the arrival.

“You are not from here.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

“…yes. I’m from rather far away.”

“You know that is not what I mean.”

Razel checked the stairwell again, making sure the captain was well out of earshot before meandering towards the Shaman.

“And what, precisely, do you mean?”

“The people here may not openly embrace the dramatic magics you are used to, but we are not disparate from our home. I have engaged in Astral travel almost daily since I was old enough to be admitted into the shaman’s residence, and I have learned many things while outside of my physical body. I learned of Planeswalkers rather quickly the first time something mistook me for one.”

The atmosphere in the room dropped as Razel straightened up, immediately returning to a serious demeanor.

“So what did you say to my compatriot out there?”

“Show me something.”

“What? No, I’m not –“

“No, that is what I told him. To show me something. He provided an example of his Magic, and I judged him accordingly. He is new, but has potential. He simply needs to be taught by someone with experience.”

Razel narrowed his eyes.

“So what do you want from me?”

“I understand your friend. I do not understand you. Even from his descriptions, it is as if he barely knows you. Yet you are spoken of as one would describe a great hunt many eons ago. A fond memory.”

The silence sat as the Shaman’s prying eyes roved over Razel, the quiet broken by a loud click as the handcuffs fell from his wrists to tumble to the floor.

“You and your friend are to leave this village. Immediately. More than likely, the creature in the woods will kill you. If you try to come back and the creature still lives, we will kill you. If you return with its carcass…we will reconsider.”

Razel rubbed his wrists out of habit, responding curtly out of a forced courtesy to hide his loathing of commands.

“Tell me about it. What does it do? Where was it seen? I could use more information that just ‘the thing on the woods’. You’re a thing in the woods, for all I care. Give me specifics.”

“It steals our children at night, usually one every new moon. Otherwise, any of our tribesmen that end up too deep in the forest or too near the ruins disappear, never to be seen again.”

“What does it look like? Anything other than kidnappings, or…?”

“As I had said – nobody who sees it returns to tell us about it. We know literally all I have told you. This thing has tormented our village for years now. We are few in number, and a continual pruning of our herd is not helping to bolster our numbers. Pretend to have a heart, Razel. We may be isolated, but we are still here.”

The Planeswalker thought for a second, then reluctantly nodded an affirmation. The Shaman grinned widely and motioned for him to return to the entrance.

“I’ll have Captain V’nor take you to the last known location of the thing. Thank you.”

Razel stepped through the partition, making it a few steps up before popping his head back in to startle the Shaman, who was mid-dismount of his seat.

“By the way…when I get back, we can discuss how you came to know my name.”

The Shaman looked very confused as the planeswalker’s head slipped back into the hallway, now just the sound of footfalls leaving his abode.

_Rokh began again._

_“Planeswalking, much like magic itself, relies heavily on intent. Where you intend to go may not always be where you wind up, but your intention is still very much the helm to your ship. You saw how obvious the post was, right? As soon as you intended to go to it, the very second you wanted to, you were there. Very similar to the doors in the Academy. Actually, that’s part of the reason we set them up like we did.”_

_“So how do we track planeswalking?”_

_He directed two stony fingers to the crease in space behind him, barely visible even to those who would know where to look._

_“That’s a scar in reality itself. As with all scars, it heals with time, but once you’ve seen one it’s easier to spot them. Reaching into one mentally can give you clues about where the thing that made it was heading. You can’t always simply ‘follow’ it, especially if someone is cast blindly into the Eternities. They could end up literally anywhere. However, were I to leave right now and ‘walk directly to my abode back at the Academy, you would be able to discern rather easily how to follow me, especially since I would already be taking the shortest path available. It would be a strong intent, and a bigger scar.”_

_“So what else? How do we know where to go in the first place?”_

_He crossed his arms and began a theatrical demonstration of where we were to go._

_“To the fiery mountains of the frozen continent! Great spires of igneous rock tear through the ground, and where Glacier meets Volcano, you’ll find me. Think you can do it?”_

_“I...what?”_

_“I just described a place. You get a feel for it, visualize it, and then step out of this space and find it. There is an obvious plane nearby with the things I have described. Find me. I know you rather well. It shouldn’t take long.”_

_And he was gone._

_Well...I’m glad somebody knew me._


	14. Lost but Seeking

“The ruins are that way.”

Captain V’Nor gestured in a westerly direction.

“It always heads back before dawn. Try not to die too quickly.”

The Elvish captain smiled down at them as he ascended back to the safety of his settlement. The gears creaked and whined as the lift abandoned them once again on the forest floor, the village resting inaudibly high above their heads. The forest seemed endless on all sides, an expanse of trunks continuing on long enough that all ways but up were hidden by the countless trees. The lowest of the branches still sat a decent height above them, many escape vines dangling from those as well as the village further up. There were no discernible landmarks; however, as they focused, the two planeswalkers felt a thrum of power from the distant ruin complex. Sudaj looked unnaturally pleased with himself as he offered his opinion.

“Well, we may as well head for the Ruins. Something that powerful is going to draw other things in the area.”

Razel nodded in affirmation and began to amble along towards their decided goal. Silence reigned for an indeterminate period of plodding. After they were safely away from the elvish establishment, Razel voiced his curiosity to his companion.

“The shaman…what did he say to you?”

Sudaj drooped slightly as he seemed less confident and immediately slunk into suspicious denial.

“N-nothing, really. He wanted to know about us, why we were here, all of that.”

The response was vague and disingenuous.

“Did you tell him?”

“What, that we were hunting something that sounded exactly like what they’re being plagued by? Obviously I did. Then he asked to see an example of my magic, which I provided him, and then he asked about you, and…”

An awkward quiet settled about the crunching of flora beneath their feet. Razel prompted the rest of the response.

“-And?”

Sudaj seemed to struggle with his words, fumbling over his response.

“…well, I…that is, the shaman… he filled me in on what’s been going on recently. Asked me to help him out. Told me to go wait outside while he spoke to you.”

“So why the smiles? You never smile.”

His response was genuine, whether it applied to the situation or otherwise.

“Do you know how rare it is anyone in authority _asks_ me to do something? The respect alone is incentive to help out this shaman person.”

“Did you tell him my name?”

Another pointed delay in his response kept the mood down.

“Well, yeah, he was asking about you. What, should I have only referred to you as ‘That Guy’?”

There was logic in the statement. Instead of pressing further, Razel decided to turn the conversation somewhere useful. He cleared his throat loudly.

“So what else did he tell you about this ‘thing’ they’re sending us after?”

“Only that it appears to be nocturnal, and that nobody has come back. It steals children. Nothing else.”

“Does it sound like the thing you saw elsewhere?”

“I only ever saw that thing when it was dead. It fits the stories, though. Abductions, nobody returning, nocturnal activity…”

“I suppose we’ll find out for certain when we locate it. It looks like the Sun here is setting soon; we should be able to make more progress in the dark.”

_Rokh was gone, leaving me to contemplate his description. Fire and ice. Glacier and volcano. I spent a few minutes taking in the monolith, running my fingers over the carvings and noting the flashes of the owners that rose within my mind. Two of them were scratched out, with a definitive animosity in doing so. I began to think about Rokh, and what exactly he expected me to do. I suppose he just expected me to succeed, and didn’t care for the methodology. I slipped away from the outpost and fell again through the world._

_Searching for ANYTHING was obscenely difficult within the eternities. The now familiar smothering embrace of the space between spaces was comforting, in a way. I began to reach out to the places around me, mentally ‘feeling’ them out. Experiencing a conglomerate of their energies gave me the faintest idea of their constituencies, with some being very much more obvious than others. Faint images of the places themselves manifested within my mind’s eye, and I saw a gallery of locales separated by interminable distances yet still ‘close’ to each other. When the dull orange glow lit the glacier behind my eyes, I tore them open, stepping into the realm they depicted._

_The river of molten rock was flanked by a series of spires that looked as though they had been thrust through the ground below. It poured from an opening at the base of the nearby peak. A fall over the edge of the cliff a short distance from the cave bored a hole within the glacier below, the great cavern excavated by the heat and glowing with residual warmth. The flow was visibly lit through the ice of the glacier itself, leaving a sinuous orange trail flickering beneath my feet. I followed it to the cascade, then dropped into the opening beneath._

_A frigid causeway carried the boiling rock beneath the ice, while I managed to completely ignore the overwhelming heat contained within. A steady dripping echoed behind the slow rumble of the flow, the perfectly smooth walls continuing on for the length of the glacier. I took a moment to return to my mindfulness, noting the oddly alluring draw of the ice around me. The overall aura of the ice out there was entirely foreign. This frozen wasteland was intrinsically different from the one I had come from, or at least, I felt that it was. I still had troubles with clearly remembering anything before I arrived at the Academy. The lava fall chamber had a pair of doors cut out of the ice on opposite sides, one looking unfinished and half-dug while the other held a purer, white glow beyond. I stepped from one molten shore to the other, taking a shortcut between spaces. The temperature began to drop as I approached the opening, and Rokh was waiting for me within. Steam billowed from him as he sat, reclined, in the far corner, illuminated by a suspended magical lamp._

The moonlight gradually broke through the woods, heralding the ruins nestled neatly within a massive sinkhole that had opened up aeons ago. The lack of trees gave a clear view to the sky above. The edge of the sinkhole was lined with a free-hanging mess of roots, each reaching vainly for any and all it could grab while providing a climb into the hole itself. The large pyramidal complex was built with four steps, each forming a polygonal terrace at its level. The six sides met in a crumbled point, and a series of small buildings were strewn about its base. The power thrumming within it was almost tangible. Razel crouched down and looked around for any sort of clues.

“See anything?”

“There’s a lot of malevolence residing in this place. More than just whatever the elves’ problem is. I think-“

The screech into the night cut him off, drawing both of their attentions to the third level of the pyramid. A Humanoid figure stepped out of the shadows, strolling dully down the steps and coming directly towards the two ‘walkers. Razel raised two fingers to his lips and closed his eyes, prompting Sudaj to do the same as they suppressed their magical auras to avoid detection. The thing strode roughly halfway towards them, and then leapt from the sinkhole floor clear to the top of the trees above. They watched as it streaked by, unable to make out further detail. The silence following left them wondering if it had gone, their curiosity only to be dispelled by another screech deeper within the forest.

“Well, whatever it is, it moves fast.”

Razel agreed.

“As should we. Do you have a good enough view of the ground from here?”

“I can just go a few feet above. A short drop won’t hurt me.”

Razel shrugged again, turning to face the base of the Pyramid’s stairs as he appeared precisely there. The sudden openness behind him left the ‘walker uncomfortable, feelings of vulnerability beginning to creep in. Sudaj landed beside him in a loud heap. By the time he had gotten to his feet, Razel was already inspecting the seams of the stones along the stairs. A small stain held his attention as Sudaj craned over him to get a good look.

“…what is it?”

“Blood. Oil. It’s old, and it’s dark. I can’t tell right now. It could be either or both.”

Together they began to ascend the stairs, the first two levels passing without incident. A smell began to emanate from the third level as they drew near, something undeniably foul and offensive. The sound of soft weeping lilted towards them, and as they stepped into the den they were met by a grisly display. Bodies were chained to the various support pillars, several mummified as the midday heat baked them. Fluids of multiple varieties were strewn about the floor, while some showed signs of a very unsuccessful attempt to sop them up. Razel seemed less affected by the gore and more by the fact that it was there.

“This isn’t right.”

Sudaj looked at him as though he had said something painfully obvious.

“Absolutely not. Do you see the bite marks on these things? It’s as though that creature kept them alive to feed for extended periods of time. Is…Is that that thing’s? ...Awful.”

“Not what I meant. This…this is too messy. It doesn’t make sense. There’s too much unused, too much waste. Too much…”

He gestured as he tried to articulate his thoughts.

“-meat.”

_Rokh stood as I came closer, seemingly surprised that I was already there._

_“Very well done. How did you find this place specifically?”_

_“Well, like you said – it was obvious. I felt around the places ‘nearby’ and came to the first one that felt right.”_

_“And that is what makes me glad to be training you – you quickly learn the things that can’t be taught.”_

_There were many things I learned. Rokh went on to teach me small, seemingly inconsequential things that could eventually come in handy. As he showed me plane after plane, he filled me with random tidbits of knowledge and trivia. I learned to follow him from place to place by reaching into the scar he left behind, as well as the best ways to attempt to blend in. After my ‘training’ had come to a brief break, we returned to the Academy. Rokh saw me off._

_“I’ll come back for you when we’re ready to start your next course. Until then, feel free to take any other classes you’d like, go to the arena, whatever strikes your fancy.”_

_For the first time I could recall, he reached into his pockets and pulled a small carved stone, an Idol shaved from pumice. He tossed it to me._

_“This’ll let you know if I need you sooner, and vice versa. Just focus on me and say what you want to say.”_

Sudaj followed his compatriot from a slight distance, his confusion growing as Razel meandered about, taking in the scene and muttering to himself.

“Completely wrong…not at all one of them…Am I really that Paranoid?”

Sudaj narrowed his eyes as realization set in.

“So obviously you know more than you’re letting on. What is it?”

“What, the thing here or the thing you found?”

Razel drooped his head as he realized he had just admitted his guilt. He sighed heavily and began to explain.

“I don’t know what the thing here is, but I have a vague idea. As for the thing you found, I have reason to believe it was a Phyrexian.”

The whimpering played the part of the cricket as Sudaj stared blankly at him, the word completely meaningless. Seeing the vacancy, Razel continued.

“I’ll give you the short version. Phyrexia is a biomechanical realm of Evil that seeks to remake the entirety of the Multiverse in their own image. They’re a disease. An infection. I had heard that the original Phyrexia had been decimated, however due to the nature of their Oil, they have probably risen again elsewhere.”

Razel’s eyes flickered with sad memory, recalling his last trip to Mirrodin.

“Oil? Like outside?”

“I thought it might be oil, but it’s probably blood. No, Phyrexian oil is a glistening black fluid that corrupts and mutates everything it touches. It is their greatest weapon. A single drop will, with time enough, rebuild Phyrexia in its entirety. I fear this has happened.”

“So how do you know this thing isn’t a ‘Phyrexian’?”

“There’s too much mess. A Phyrexian in these circumstances would be scouting for recruits or information. There would be no bodies, no blood, and no entrails. No waste. Everything would be used or repurposed. Everything. It’s both relieving and worrying that I was wrong, though.”

“How so?”

“The only way to be rid of an infection is complete removal. You’d have to get rid of literally every iota the thing had touched. Planeswalkers have a much higher tolerance for it than most things, but even we can succumb. If there had been multiple, the only way to be certain is to decimate the Plane they’re on.”

“As in…destroy? An entire Plane?”

“Think of it as triage. Excise one realm of existence to ensure the safety of all others.”

The screech drove into the room, echoing off of the open spaces. The two ‘walkers looked to each other as the rest of the noises stopped. The screech came again, but closer this time. A distant wailing began to grow louder as the creature brought another victim with it. Sudaj looked to his compatriot for suggestions. Razel shrugged.

“Guess we’ll just deal with it now.”


	15. [IK03] – Stumbling Lamely

You descend the stairs roughly, stumbling on the last few stones as a consequence of your continuing headache. You shake the fog out of your vision, trying to get a feel for where you need to go. The Pontiff hadn’t been overly specific, but if there is anywhere a shady deal is going to happen, it is near Bane Alley. The location is a mystery to some, and debatable to a few, but you know the general direction and that’s what matters.

You take the left down a narrow garden path anointed with occasional arches of steel wrapped thick in very vibrant ivy, heading towards a service road off to the side of the church. The fake ground is built well along the floor level, and is probably at least ten feet of actual soil. The trees growing around the building arc about your arm’s stretch above the path, forming a loose natural tunnel. You close your eyes and take the familiar trail, trying to visualize the events to come. Your imagination runs wild and visions of surgeons and vampires seem to affect you much more than you think they should. You open your eyes, rubbing them absent mindedly as you lift your head just in time to see Justicar Myra of the Azorius Senate strolling up to the church, no doubt for the daily inquiries. As she whips her cloak open to cross her arms toward you in generic disapproval, you see a rather large silver blade slung at her hip. She is pointedly ignoring you, as expected. She appears fixed on an interesting window design immediately beside you, but certainly not you yourself.

You smirk as your thoughts turn to humiliation. She amuses you. Greatly. Part of you is relieved that she is here to grant you the entertainment of your bickering. You look up to her, making note that her full plate armor is exceptionally shiny, and it certainly looks unused. Either it has been freshly cleaned or it is brand new, and there are only a few reasons for either. A promotion could require new dress, or even an assignment of high visibility. Either way, she is obviously uncomfortable in it, regardless of the way it happens to be forged to conform to her physical structure beautifully. Her legs have a warrior’s shapeliness in the strapped greaves. Your eyes linger for a beat, tracing the lusciously lustrous outline of her hips.

A strange twinge of emotion hits you for a moment, just cause for another shake of the head. In your absentmindedness you find yourself colliding roughly into the Justicar’s shoulder, both of you having ignored each other so hard you failed to see yourselves, almost intentionally. You decide to initiate this particular encounter.

“I see I’m not the only one blinded by your brilliant new plating, law mage. I was on my way, if you don’t mind.”

She simply stands there, still as a monument, a scowl evident behind her helm. When finally she speaks to you, it is as she might to a distant cousin she has been forced to babysit.

“It’s alright, coin thief. My brilliance may yet be noticed by the end of this night. Stay out of the Law’s way, Inquisitor.”

You smile, nod, turn and step to walk away, only to stop and remember that you had forgotten to quip back at her. Not wanting to seem as out of sorts as you feel, you pause, shake your head, and turn to face her again. She seems a little less rigid, her posture less offended and more familiar. Her stern visage appeared to have softened a bit. She nearly looked curious at your lack of reaction. You indulge your little game once more.

“I don’t seek to break the law. Besides, I wouldn’t want to…to…”

You draw blanks. Nothing comes to mind. The pain in your temples flares slightly as you fail to connect the wordplay. You fumble your words, unsure of how to finish. In the end, you give up.

“…Regardless. I’m not out to break any laws tonight. Until anon, Justicar.”

You see her curiosity turn to something else, but what exactly it is you’re not quite sure since you’ve stepped past her and down the path towards the labyrinth of buildings. You possibly hear the sound of her turning around, however to keep on your course and continue the path, stepping out of the back gate and into the street. You pay no mind to the citizenry in your way, maneuvering through them with ease as always you have. Your goal is the forbidden Dimir ghetto of Bane Alley. It is a respectable journey, several days by foot, but the bars are hopefully worth the trip.

As you begin to put distance between the Azorius wench and yourself, you start to daydream, slipping into a kind of autopilot as you seek your way through the city. You disregard the opinions of others as you weave through the crowds, your rush personally justified. Hosts of patrons swell the streets, some stepping aside for you out of respect for your guild. The variety of storefronts blend together as you rush past, not bothering to note them as you hurry along. Your thoughts turn inward, and you visualize the statue from your visions before. It appears significantly more vivid this time, and the mental picture of the crisp porcelain mask inspires a faint memory of a cool caress along your hand. The brilliant red horns meet above the mask in a headpiece that spreads out from its crown, draping a tattered cloth from each of the striped extensions to either side.

You step aside for an incoming vendor, the large beast he leads carting an inventory of cutlery. The darkened sky implies that you were lost in thought for much longer than it seemed. Your fantasy fades into nothingness as you lose your train of thought, now concerned with the nature of the procedure you are hoping to undergo. Will it hurt much? Will the agent lie and remove more? In the end, it doesn’t matter. If the Dimir remove your memory of the lack of memory, it will be as if nothing had been missing and, if nothing else, you’ll get your money’s worth. At best you’ll remember what you lost. In a macabre way, it is fair. Regardless, you can live with the outcome.

The crowd begins to shift from the nicer folks of the inner city to the more questionable patrons about the fringes. Long hours pass with nothing to show but the result of your travel as you trek through the brick and mortar. You try to remember the festival where you lost your memories, only to come up with nothing. It does not surprise you, but it still irritates you. More than anything else, it would seem you feel the reason for this quest is to prevent the irritation of not knowing what you don’t know. Such interminable irritation.

A Gruul shaman catches your eye as she screams indecipherably at her associate, gesturing madly and threatening to explode, possibly literally. Whatever the other one has done, he will certainly regret it. You chuckle as you picture Myra and the Pontiff bickering over your exploits. Your smirk softens as you realize they won’t have been having those conversations recently due to your injuries. A much different scenario begins to take shape in your head. Perhaps they were concerned? Perhaps they discussed you while you were gone. Who knew? The thought of Myra discussing you makes you proud on a strange level, as if being worthy of her ire were somehow a personal goal. Yet knowing that there would be no ire changed the whole outlook of the scenario. Suddenly a routine quibbling turned into genuine conversation, and when associates talk…

Nonsense. The Pontiff is more uptight about his secrets than you pretend to be. Shrugging any potential worry off your shoulders, you finally turn down a nameless alleyway and find a row of establishments that has not witnessed natural daylight in literal ages. Your blazing sun bared across your chest served as a sign of wealth, but in this place of shadow, you feel distinctly shuttered. Not afraid, simply expectant. You were being watched the second you saw the alley and you knew it. Curiosities become great and terrible things as the windows appear to breeze past, the stock getting increasingly more impressive as you go further in. A loud thumping echoes through the street as a bar further down is in full swing for the night. You begin to see folks passed out along the thoroughfares and doorways, and as the drums and low strings grow louder the sounds of the crowd do as well.

A sign hanging in front of the bar displays a head with no top to his skull, carved to display a chess board underneath in place of his brain. The establishment was called ‘Head Games’.

Of course.

The revue that has chosen to claim the bar for the night had started outside, trashing windows and leaving a repulsive mess around the porch. The door is blocked by a large ogre who is dressed, quite literally, to kill. You note the respectable radius the rest of the folk are granting the entrance. Ignoring the entirety of your common sense you head straight for the ogre, all the while maintaining your regal Orzhov composure. You are supposed to be in this bar tonight and no thrill-seeking brute was going to come between you and a half and half. The guard turns to you, sizing you up as you approach. You feel confident, as always.

“Stop yourself, buddy. Are you here for a drink?”

You keep your eyes fixed to his, making sure not to stop your steady contact.

“Yes. Let me in.”

The ogre laughs loudly, hiding behind his hand for a minute before looking at you with what you hope is disbelief. As you maintain your composure, he seems to react to you with greater tension.

“Do you know what’s going down inside, little man?”

His broad gestures do not impress you. The scars all about his arms intrigue you, but you feel as though the reason is tied up in the parts of your memory you lack. You look to the door behind him, and note the guttural belting of a performer in the bar. Two voices alternate, clearly attempting to outdo the other. The terrible lyrical stylings hurt you deeply, but you contained your frown. A Rakdos party. This is the kind of thing that got you out here initially. Is it a good idea to try and find your lost memories of a revue…in a revue?

“You’re having a little festival. That’s grand. Let me get a drink.”

Again with the disbelief. You are obviously both amusing him and offending him deeply. His lifestyle imposes a series of whimsical and malleable rules, and it seems you’re going to be subject to them. He brings himself down to your level, hunching over and trying, in vain, to deter you through presence alone.

“The only way you’re going in there is if you challenge the current Master of Ceremonies. You think you’re up to a little lyrical combat, meatbag?”

You try your best to be as insincere about looking offended as possible.

“Will I still get my drink?”


	16. Deceitful Debate

A shriek like a dying vulture cut through the air. The moonlight was still bright, although the planeswalkers guessed about two-thirds of the night had passed them by. At the sound of the monster the whimpers in the far recesses grew quiet. Sudaj dusted the grime off of his hands, curious as to what Razel had planned.

“So setting aside your crazy talk about machine people, what are we going to do with the thing here?”

Razel was taken aback by the blatant accusation of dishonesty, ignoring the matter at hand entirely.

“It’s not crazy talk! There really is a race of biomechanoids bent on multiversal domination!”

“Sure there is.”

“Whatever you want to think, my friend.”

“And what about the-“

Another shrill screech emphasized his question. It sounded much closer this time.

“Whatever it is, it’ll be here shortly. We’ll need something physical to signify that we disposed of it, so no disintegrations or swallowing whole.”

“What, we’re just going to kill it when it arrives?”

“No, you are.”

“ME? Why only me?! What do you think you’re going to be doing the whole time?”

Razel stroked his chin, contemplating the gore surrounding him.

“Thinking.”

“Wha-No. No. You’re going to help with this.”

“Why? You’ve got it. It’s a single creature of the night. Surely you can handle it.”

“I…but…”

Sudaj couldn’t think of a way to rebuke the statement without impugning himself in the process. He started scowling again, wondering if he would get creases from the repetitive nature of his recent expressions. The sound of rustling branches barely reached their ears, implying a proximity to the thing that gave them next to no time to finish bantering.

Sudaj turned to face the noise, his arms flaring out from his sides as he centered himself and began to pool his energies. Razel apathetically continued to look about the room, stepping between two pillars to investigate the source of the whimpering from before. Several drained corpses were still bound to the supports, their leathery hides shrunk tight over the desiccated bodies. A single living elf, a frail specimen of youth, vainly tried to hide among the filth. Glossing over the captive, he stepped past the stack of bones to inspect a mural carved into the wall. The other ‘walker stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, waiting for the beast to come into view. The shrieking had stopped. Razel turned from the carvings to watch his primed compatriot, who loudly let his thoughts be known.

“I thought it was supposed to arrive by now. Are you still just watching?”

“You can take it.”

“Come on! Help me out here at least a little!”

“You don’t need it! This is a single life form! I know you’re capable of taking down a lone monster on your own.”

“That’s not the point! Didn’t you get pegged to a tree just a little while ago?”

“That has nothing to do with this. Those were magical weapons, and-“

“Liar! This has everything to do with it! Your inability to act is going to get us killed. All you want to do is a whole lot of nothing! ‘Don’t let them know we’re here, Sudaj!’ ‘You can take this thing on your own, Sudaj!’ ‘This is your quest, Sudaj!’ No! You wanted to come with, YOU do it.”

_From time to time Rokh would find me between lessons and steal parts of my schedule to train me on the minutiae of planeswalking. Basic skills and knowhow, from the best ways to utilize a planar scar without destabilizing it to reaching out with your awareness to ‘feel’ any planeswalker activity. Sometimes the lessons would have extended sessions to include ways one could theoretically counteract the same measures taken against you._

_Within the first several lessons the ability to trigger awareness became almost second nature. The capability to become cognizant of most everything in an area, while mentally draining, was effective in a multitude of ways. The sensory knowledge gained from your awareness could direct you to a possible lead on your assignment, as well as preventing an ambush by those without extended knowledge of their magical aura. I admit that there are occasions wherein I will find myself absorbed in something or sufficiently distracted and lose awareness for an undisclosed period of time, but I have a habit of maintaining it when I need to. Of course, the multitude of senses and sensory phenomena mean that no matter how aware, there will always be things I miss._

_Somehow Rokh managed to sneak up on me every time. His capability to modify his own ethereal signature was astounding, and he managed to completely suppress it around me at all times, almost as a joke. I asked him once, directly, about his power level._

_“Over nine thousand students have asked me that, and probably nine thousand more will after you. Don’t worry about it. I don’t advertise, and we’ll leave it at that.”_

_I enjoyed these sessions. The experience with the double was now nothing but a memory, however the ghost of his friendships haunted me still. In fact, I began to worry that I was considering Rokh a ‘Friend’. Was this a bad decision? Should I not consider him a friend? I asked myself, repeatedly, countless variations of these questions. After a long deliberation, I decided I should simply admit that Rokh was as close to a friend as I had and try to be more ‘friendly’ towards him. There was no reason to not remain on good terms with your trainer, after all._

Razel grumpily strode over to the other ‘walker. The air chilled as he drew near, and Sudaj noted a fog of his own breath as his companion spoke.

“It’s on the level above, listening to us argue like a pair of challenged apes.”

“If you know that, why won’t you d-”

“Because it’s more likely to attack if it thinks we are either unprepared or unaware. You watch for it, it figures out how to get past you, I tag it and take it down as it tries and fails to get at you. But that won’t work if you keep forcing me to engage you. Subtlety is key here, and above all, why not simply trust me?”

“I don’t trust you. You lied to me about knowing whatever this thing is -”

“I didn’t ‘lie’ to you, I-”

“-and now you lie to me about some stupid plan? The last time we went on an expedition you were teaching me, not treating me like a fool. Now you’re acting as though I should know everything automatically. You treat me as though I’m someone else you used to do things like this with. I don’t know if I ever want to meet them or know anything about them, ‘cause if they can work with you for extended periods they’re better at this whole ‘life’ thing than I am.”

The Beast dropped from a balcony to their side, standing in its wrinkled, mummified elven flesh. The eyes held a misty red glow, and the fingers ended in abnormal claws. It smiled grimly and spoke to the intruders.

“What if I don’t have a life?”

The two planeswalkers both turned to glare at it.

“Stay out of this.”

“We’re in the middle of something.”

“So, what exactly are you saying about me here? Other than you having no patience?”

“What does patience have to do with this?!”

The Undead elf was unsure of what to do with these two unwanted guests. Their bickering was annoying, and vaguely offensive. What did these two meat sacks think they were doing in his home? It made no sense to him. His decision to make his intent known was evident through his bared, glistening fangs. The Vampire took a pointed step towards them.

“-not at all what I said! Why would you even bring that up?”

“FOOLS! YOU DARE COME TO MY DEN AND TELL ME TO WAIT?”

Its voice creaked as a forest in a hurricane, sickening and deafening. To his further surprise, the two ‘walkers were entirely unimpressed with it. A twinge of sadness festered up from the memories of practicing that voice for exactly an occasion such as this. Razel deigned to address it once more.

“Look, you decaying bloodchugger; we’re busy.”

It hissed at him, baring its fine fangs in aggression. Impudent mortal simpleton!

“Are those needles supposed to scare me? Please.”

It stopped and gawked at him for a moment. He deflated slowly as Razel continued on.

“I’ve dealt with vampires that turn to bats, vampires that shimmer, vampires that control your mind, even vampires that can stop time! You? You’re a vampire ELF. I have no respect for you. Go enjoy your last few moments away from our argument. As I said; We. Are. Busy.”

_Within what felt like no time I was trained. Rokh would leave, I would find him, we would discuss my methodology, and he would make suggestions and answer any questions. As part of his ulterior course, he also showed me why these things were traceable, and to test my ability to put practical knowledge to use, he would have me disappear to a random place and then attempt to avoid detection. I found that hiding is monumentally more difficult than finding. Controlling every aspect of one’s magical emissions was nothing to scoff at._

_Progress was measured in the length of time spent training per session. What began as a short jaunt to teach me the basics evolved into grand forays away from the Academy, where the finer points would be exemplified and made clear. The time between sessions was more or less constant, and I began to use them as a standard to relate my experiences. I had just finished a course in advanced summoning and headed back to my chambers when I opened the door to see Rokh waiting impatiently in my room. His body fogged as the temperature difference made itself apparent. He had a stern look on his face, and his normally jovial manner was gone. I could feel the seriousness of the situation emanating off of him._

_“There’s a problem.”_

_I think he started before I was completely into my room; however that may only be my recollection. Regardless, there was a new sense of urgency. He continued._

_“Someone has gone missing. Disappeared without warning. We need to bring them back.”_

_I’m fairly certain I smiled. The opportunity to utilize all of the recent training was an appealing one. How difficult could it be? I was already able to follow Rokh more or less anywhere he led me. A twinge of curiosity led me to inquire as to the nature of the missing person._

_“I’m more than ready. Who are we retrieving?”_

_The smile he hid behind was disingenuous, and seemed as an afterthought in his subconscious._

_“Not retrieving – Bringing back. A relatively new ‘walker literally disappeared in the middle of a course. The instructor made us aware of it less than a day ago. As soon as the assignment came in, I went to my superiors to clear your permissions for accompanying me. Are you ready to put the hide and seek behind us and truly start tracking?”_

_The smile I hid behind was far from disingenuous, and in fact, reflected the overwhelming excitement brewing within. Any opportunity to utilize my talents is one I will jump to undertake. I stepped to face him as an equal and reached out my hand to seal our decision._

_“Shall we?”_


	17. Found

The undead abomination was far from pleased by this chain of events. A low growl grew from within it, its eyes narrowing as the already strained patience was done away with.

“Why are you being so belligerent about this?! This is only wasting our time! Don’t you trust me at all?!”

“That’s just it, we don’t have any time! There isn’t a limit! We aren’t in a rush!”

“What does that have to do with lying to y-“

Razel cut himself off as he saw the beast launch itself into Sudaj’s chest, knocking him to the ground and pinning the ‘walker beneath its deceptively scrawny frame. Sudaj screeched in surprise as the thing reached back to extend its claws. As the fingers splayed, the hand jerked, restrained by Razel’s sudden grip about its wrist. The vampire bared its fangs and turned to hiss at Razel, instead discovering the unique joy of a boot to the teeth. Another screech pierced the room, this time from the undead. Sudaj looked on in horror as the fangs knocked loose fell onto his chest, the flow of congealed blood seeping into his tunic. The creature scrambled off of Sudaj, backpedaling into the wall.

“Didn’t we tell you to wait?”

The fiend glared at him, wiping a flow of blood from its chin.

“GOB MOGGIT, IT’S ALL OVER MY VEST! AUGH, I CAN FEEL IT LEAKING INTO MY STRAP...”

The creature stepped threateningly towards Razel, which was all the incentive he required. A brisk wave of his hand raised the thing into the air, pulling its limbs taut as the ‘walker stepped up to it.

“The Shaman said that all we need is proof of your demise. I suppose a head will do, although we might need to bring your teeth as well.”

The creature’s flesh began to stretch, tearing and rending itself from the body as the spell removed its appendages. The disassembled vampire fell to the floor before him. Razel bent over to retrieve his trophy, tying the fraying hair about his belt.

“Insolent ghoul.”

Sudaj rolled himself to his feet, brushing off what viscera he could and grabbing the fangs that fell from him. His black shirt was visibly wet, glinting in the low light and implying a very uncomfortable affair.

“Roz…what is the point in changing back to my regular clothes if this is what happens to them?”

“We only changed in the first place to remain inconspicuous. Once they know what we are, who cares?”

“At any rate, we should make sure there aren’t any survivors. If there are, we should take them back to the village. Where was that whimpering coming from…?”

“Of course we should…”

As Sudaj wandered away to begin to inspect the bodies scattered around the room for signs of life, Razel found himself once again contemplating the encounter with the Shaman. Dreamwalkers were a relatively common occurrence, but they were rarely so uninterested in Planeswalkers proper. Every Dreamer Razel had encountered expressed a distinct interest in being able to take their body with their souls on their trips, yet this one acted as if Planeswalking was old news. It was an unusual response, and it left a nagging feeling of doubt.

“There’s a Survivor over here!”

_Rokh led me to the staging area, a place I had been in passing but never with a purpose. Racks of somatic components lined the walls, broken by the occasional display. Tools and weapons were scattered about the shelves. After providing a belt with a large pouch, Rokh grabbed a few things, explaining and displaying each as he did so._

_“The pouch on the belt is connected to a pocket realm, much like the doors we use to get around. Don’t worry about over-filling it, but whatever you do don’t turn it inside-out.”_

_He indicated the variety of artifacts in front of us._

_“These are the tools available to us. I have trained you thus far to function without them, so that should they fail you will not be helpless; however, they are useful nonetheless.”_

_We took enough material to fill several lesser containers, but the three objects that stood out to me were as follows;_

_-A small golden amulet that appeared to be covered in hairline fractures, each crack filled with an absolute blackness. Rokh described it as a ‘suppressor’, capable of damping your aura in order to make it harder for someone to detect you. As I watched it, the cracks would shift to different configurations with no motion between. The effects were not readily apparent as Rokh made a habit of hiding his energies, preventing me from noting any change._

_-A large gem was provided to both of us, varying from the deep red of the stone afforded Rokh to the virulent purple displayed in mine. The crystals contained an emergency reserve of Mana, and were meant to be used in case of unforeseen circumstances._

_-A fist-sized metallic sphere, sectioned at regular intervals to form a grid on its surface. The metal was dull silver, scuffed in many places. Rokh was rather passionate about this one. As he explained:_

_“This is a Planar Lock. When activated, it will project a field of respectable size which prevents any form of outbound interplanar travel, effectively anchoring you where you are. We use these to prevent our quarry from fleeing. Keep in mind that the lock is one-way; you can’t leave the plane, but others can still come in. This way, should you require backup, they can arrive. Now, you have to be relatively close to them for it to work. The projected field is less than a klik from edge to edge. In other words, don’t use it until the end.”_

_With our bags stocked and the items explained, Rokh directed me to a second chamber, this one looking more like a ritualized Dias. Concentric circles wound about the platform, converging into a 24-pointed starburst. I followed him obediently, watching intently as he made our final preparations. Upon closer inspection, the designs seemed reminiscent of a map, although I lacked any sort of clue as to the nature of reading it. I simply trusted that my companion knew what he was doing. He traced a pattern or two on opposite ends of the room, igniting a sphere of energy above the starburst. Rokh turned to motion me towards him._

_“Here’s the most important thing – do what I tell you, when I tell you. Do not hesitate, do not waver, act. This is critical. It could be the difference between success and death. Am I clear?”_

_I acknowledged his inquiry, spurring him to lead me to the small star in the middle of the room. The gateway flickered wickedly as we stepped into it, launched by the Dias through the eternities and along the path left by the missing ‘walker._

The trio trudged through the trees, the two ‘Walkers holding the young elf’s hands. The frail creature was withered and malnourished, the loose rags bound about it barely hiding the puncturing fang marks sporadically placed about its body. It refused to speak, and as such its gender was not readily apparent. An arrow dove into the root in front of them, the vibrato twang of the wood echoing around them. The lift was partially lowered, and the captain was visible behind his sniper. His voice boomed to the travelers.

“You were gone most of the night. We did not expect you back.”

Razel muttered something obscene under his breath, then responded.

“We killed the creature and saved this little…uh…child.”

“Prove it.”

Razel reached behind himself, untying the hair and hurling the head at the captain. The sniper raised his bow and pierced the appendage, slowing it enough for the captain to snatch it from the air as it came to him. A cursory review of the grisly evidence seemed to satisfy him, as the bowman shouldered his weapon and began to lower the transport. The trio made their way to the trunk, and after crowding into the lift, ascended once more to the village.

The trapdoor above breached them back to floor-level, while the village itself was quiet as one would expect in the middle of the night. As the lift creaked to a halt, the Shaman appeared in the doorway of the Town Hall, walking casually toward the two visitors. Sudaj stepped towards the Shaman, leaving Razel to drag the child along.

“I’m glad you two have returned! I trust you were successful, then?”

The captain held the head aloft, and Sudaj presented the teeth. Razel explained.

“It was a Vampire. A creature that feeds on blood. It was stealing your people and keeping them alive to feed on them.”

“It was…farming us?”

“Effectively, yes.”

The Shaman shuddered at the thought, turning his attention to the youngling.

“I see you managed to rescue someone! Excellent. I’ll take him inside and make sure he is taken care of. Don’t go anywhere yet, my associate would like to speak with you.”

The Shaman led the child off gingerly, stopping just before the curtain to turn and speak.

“Sudaj, can you join me for a moment?”

Razel watched in confusion as his fellow mage nearly strut his way to the leader, noting a disquieting confidence in his stride. The Shaman disappeared into the hall, while another hand held it open after their passing. Sudaj turned and smiled at Razel, stepping past the waiting curtain and following the others. The party behind the fabric stepped into the moonlight, his formal robes clearly not local to the area. A blindfold was wrapped tight around his head, and the large pouch at his hip hid his right hand.

“Hello again, Razel.”

Instinctually, Razel stepped between spaces. The speed of his reaction was met by the blind mage, who broke into an immediate sprint. The tracker withdrew a small metal sphere from the pouch, depressing a panel and lobbing it into the crack in reality. He dived into the scar after his prey, disappearing from the village entirely. The captain blinked a few times, shook his head, and made his way back to his quarters.

_The Dias spit us out in a realm of sand. Endless dunes stretched off into the horizons, while the heat of the suns baked what little life was about the surface. Were I not a ‘walker, I may have died of heat stroke on the spot. Instead, Rokh and I were deposited a few meters from a large divot in the otherwise unbroken silicate sea, noting the hurried footprints that led away from it. Rokh gave me another one of his smiles as we started down the path, noting that it “should be easy enough.”_

_The trail wound for hours through the sands, leading us at last to the mouth of a cave. We found our way into the shadowed caverns, entering what seemed to be a complex of tunnels and hollows dispersed beneath the endless desert. Sand cascaded in sheets from the occasional sinkhole above, replaced by some unknown mechanism to emulate the water cycles of countless other planes. The trail began to soften due to the extra dust and grit in the air, but we managed to maintain our course._

_Rokh motioned for me to stop soon as we noticed the pathway. The trail followed a small outcropping across a divide with no visible bottom, disappearing into the cavern on the other side. We gingerly crept along the path, the sound of shallow breaths growing louder as we snuck closer. Rokh pulled his Planar Lock, pushing a section like a button before resting it just outside the entryway. We both stepped to block the aperture, surveying the room ahead._

_The cavern had a few spires growing from the ceiling and floors, while the rogue ‘walker was cowering against the far wall. Looking younger than I had before my ignition, I found myself confused. We approached him calmly, trying to avoid sudden movements. Rokh attempted to reason with him._

_“C’Thon…Are you alright?”_

_He jumped at our address, his eyes wide. I stayed a few steps back, trying to observe more than I enact. His voice wavered._

_“I don-don’t want to g-go back. I want to go away.”_

_Rokh tried logic once more._

_“You know we can’t let you do that, C’Thon. The Academy has a zero-tolerance policy on liability. You know this. Come back with us.”_

_“No!”_

_His energies began to boil, indicating a response of the violent variety. Rokh spoke to me quickly and mechanically._

_“Remove the liability.”_

_I froze. This was hardly the first time I’d inflicted harm on someone, and wouldn't even be the first life I’d taken…but each one had sought to take mine, first. This lost little boy was not my standard opponent. I raised two fingers, shakily directing my focus at the ‘walker. I was unable to spur myself to action. Just as Rokh seemed ready to take his own initiative, the boy let loose a bolt of plasma, searing into my shoulder and reflexively triggering my defensive responses. By the time I realized what had happened, my shadows had already consumed the extent of his vitality. The shriveled remains dissipated into a fine powder, joining the countless grains in their trek about the realm. Rokh clapped a hand on my back._

_“Another potential catastrophe averted. You’re a hero of the Multiverse, Roz.”_

_I certainly didn't feel heroic._


	18. No Recourse

Space rent itself asunder as the planeswalker careened into the realm, falling ungraciously into the shallow marsh. Razel felt the wind of the sphere careening past him, noting the splash farther ahead. An attempt to ‘walk once more confirmed his fear as to the ball’s classification, leading him to face the scar he had only just come through. The lingering presence of the scar within the Lock’s sphere of influence implied the pursuit of the blind mage. With moments to spare, Razel dove behind the scar, landing so as to make himself hidden beneath the waters.

The blindfolded mage was shunted loudly into the swamp, landing with significantly more grace than his prey. The scar collapsed on itself, flaring in visible light for a moment as it compressed the wound in reality. The pond was rippling with the wake of the visitors, while only the blind man stood above it. Razel’s subdued energies were masked by the darkness inherent in the swamp. The tracker trudged about the muck, reaching out with his mind and locating nothing.

A bubble escaped just behind the mage, followed by a ripple of liquid as Razel grabbed his ankles to pull him off balance. The accompanying splash was extended as Razel erupted from below, leaping above the liquid and expending a large pulse of his energies to flash freeze a portion of the pond. The Hunter’s fingers twitched slightly as they began to steam, a responding flare of heat and pressure cracking the ice and blowing out a small cavity in the center of the tributary, while small trails of water began to leak into their new arena. Razel recoiled as the shockwave passed him, noting with subdued pleasure the soggy state of his opponent. The rush of water wound down in volume as the levels evened out, swallowing the combatant’s shins as they rose.

The blindfold draped down his back and clung to the rest of the mage’s clothes, moisture weighing them down considerably. An orb of fire resolved within his palm, expanding to the tips of his fingers as he caged the energy. Razel charged, jumping to tackle his enemy, instead being partially deflected by the fireball which crashed into his chest at full force. The blast launched his already airborne frame back further, splashing beyond the ring of ice that had already begun to thaw. Plodding heavily through the puddle to splash into the water beyond, flames again grew within the hands of the blind one. One fireball was lobbed into the marsh itself, setting off a small gas explosion and vaporizing a portion of the remaining pond. The mist that surrounded them failed to inconvenience the mage in the slightest. Razel silently slid his head above the water, attempting to spot his opponent. The fog made the proposition difficult, and the lack of an astral signature told Razel that the Academy still used their Suppressor Artifacts. A splash behind him drew his attention as he held himself still, spotting a soft orange glow within the mists.

The other fireball tore past the vapors and missed the ‘walker by inches, colliding loudly with the surface just next to him. Razel took the opportunity to stand under cover of other noises, closing his eyes and reaching out with his shadows towards the source of the flame. His umbra glided across the water, skimming over the fish killed by the fireballs and dissipating shortly beyond. A bolt of plasma skipped along the shadow, seizing an entry to Razel’s defenses. The shock knocked him from his feet once more, while the blind mage moved toward the sound of his fall. Razel clambered to his feet, watching the glow approach at a much less violent pace. As the fog thinned, the Academy robe became clear, surrounded by the ring of fireballs that served to illuminate him, preventing Razel’s shadows from getting too close.

The hunter taunted his prey with sadistic glee.

“You’re not so righteous without your little orb, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say I was righteous to begin with. I gave you exactly the attention you deserve.”

Two more bolts of electric fire shot into Razel, launching him back further still. The fire mage kept his stride casual, mocking the ‘walker before him.

“Why did you leave, Razel? I really want to know.”

The rime mage lurched to his feet, his hair damp and draping in front of his eyes.

“I thought you had files on everyone? What, your superiors don’t tell you everything?”

Razel dropped and sprung as he saw the hunter raise his hands, propelling himself under the orbiting flames and directly in front of the mage within. His arm shot out, an icicle roughly a third of the length of his arm spiraling from his extended fingertips. He drew in his legs, crouching mid-air as he propelled the spike at the blindfold in front of him. Twin bolts of plasma spun their own helix from the hunter’s palms directly into Razel, launching him once more.

The ice mage fell beneath the waters, while the tracker kept coming.

“Matter of fact, my Superiors have an unnatural interest in you. You’re right, they’re very secretive...but it’s not my place to question.”

Razel raised his head above the waterline, holding himself up on all fours.

“Really? I think it’s exactly your place. Why would you blindly do what they ask?”

The Hunter scowled at Razel, who smiled as he went on.

“Aside from the obvious. Do you ever wonder why you do what you do?”

“No. I do it because you are a liability. You are irresponsible. You are malicious. It is Planeswalkers like you that caused the Dominia Anomaly. Would you wish all of your kind a half-life such as that? Losing their longevity? Cursed with power but no time to learn to control it? Trapped in a single form for their entirety? You are a propagator of misery and destruction.”

“Only half of that was true. I could care less about ‘my kind’. We’re creatures, same as any. Just better ones.”

The water around the hunter’s legs began to boil as his emotions rose.

“We are the apex of existence. It is our responsibility to keep the multiverse safe. Especially from ourselves.”

“So what did I do to warrant execution?”

“One dignitary, three halberdiers, two patrolmen, Joxer the ‘Mighty’, 524 infantrymen, property damage in excess of the annual product of the location-should I continue?”

Razel was speechless for a moment.

“Are they making you keep track now? If this is some new job requirement, I’m glad I got out when I did.”

“It’s not. I just don’t like you.”

Knowing it would only bring more ranting, he replied snarkily as he crept backwards, keeping himself mostly below the water.

“I don’t even know your name. Besides, I gave those people stories for ages to come. You have to admit, the bit with your Jackie fellow was grand. Why the hell wouldn’t you like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

The question was clearly rhetorical as the water grew hotter, bubbling audibly as he kept on.

“You say you’ve done this before, have you? How much time did you sink into your longest assignment?”

Razel moved slightly more to the left as he thought to himself, eventually stopping as he offered a reply.

“Well, I never really timed them, but I’d say a standard Academy week. Maybe two.”

The blindfold quivered as his eye twitched in irritation.

“How long ago did you leave the Academy?”

“I make a point not to count.”

“I, personally, have been assigned to your case for nearly a century. I inherited your case when my predecessor died, and he had inherited it from the death of the previous agent almost a millennia prior, whom I had heard a rumor regarding his obtaining your case through the promotion of the agent before.”

“You’re missing numbers-”

“THE POINT is that I have spent nearly a lifetime looking for you. I could be doing such better things than this. You were in the Academy. You know the options available to me. Instead you waste my time.”

“You mean your superiors don’t let you out for classes? What a scam!”

“Normally they would...but your case is an old one. I think it’s getting close to the top five, if the latest recovery update was correct. That means we dedicate more resources to you. Every day you live is an exponential increase in the possibility of you becoming a catastrophic liability. The variables are too large outside the Academy. With enough time, you will ALWAYS be found.”

His flames flared into existence where they had been before his charge, dispelling the subtle shadow Razel had snuck towards him. The ice mage’s scowl dipped into the water.

“Let me finish, you insufferable...berg!”

The bolt was anticipated, but unexpected quite so soon. Ill preparation meant that the lightning connected painfully to his face, forcing him back underwater. Again Razel braced himself on all fours, breaching his head above the swamp and wobbling slightly. His cheek was recovering significantly slower, leaving a gaping pit of rime beneath his eyes to slowly disappear behind the rejuvenating flesh. He spoke quietly and deliberately.

“Fine...go on.”

“A LIFETIME OF DEAD ENDS. GOOSE CHASING! FAILURES! The longer I go, the louder they get! More insistent! More impatient! NO MORE!”

“No more what?”

The steam cracked with static as the blind mage drew up a well of mana.

“No more YOU!”

This time Razel was prepared. The erupting mass of plasma was instead met by the sphere from before, located by Razel’s wandering hands and thrust in his stead to the fireball approaching. The device crashed into the spell, imploding on itself and sparking a hole where the two had collided. The blind mage observed in confusion as his quarry addressed him.

“Ever done that before?”

Razel stood confidently, no longer secretly seeking in the muck. The rotating flames began to slow their orbits, stopping at his cardinal facings. The hunter responded with caution.

“No. I keep my items intact. What did you just do to us?”

Razel gestured at the midair aberration, wondering if the motion was even noticed.

“That void is projecting a lock field. It is slowly evaporating, but it will be on the scale of a week to a year. We aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

The steam made the Academy robes billow about the hunter as it rose.

“Do you expect me to take my time in killing you then?”

“Not exactly.”

“I aim to please.”

“Will you at least give me a name, so I know who to ridicule after your inevitable failure?

“You may call me Itako.”

“Sounds like a woman’s name.”

Razel dodged the superheated blast deftly, his former lack of dexterity now an obvious falsehood. The Fire ignited yet another gas pocket, thickening the fog considerably more. Razel easily discerned Itako’s presence from the blinding glow behind the mists. Quietly and under cover of the hunter’s complaints, he crouched to retrieve water in his cupped hands. Razel tamped his energies further, noting a radiant discomfort the quieter he sought to be.

“I suppose you think ‘Razel’ is a pinnacle of masculinity then.”

“Do you always make a habit of bickering with your targets?”

The tracker flushed as he realized how far his self-control had slipped. Razel deftly flung the water to the side, making sure it audibly splashed away from him. As Itako’s energies arced toward the disturbance, his prey disappeared, only to reconstitute behind the now revealed hunter’s location. Itako whirled about in surprise, expecting neither Razel’s sudden appearance nor the hand that grasped his throat firmly, preventing any escape of his own. Itako croaked his disbelief.

“But…the Lock…”

Razel’s grip tightened, his middle two fingers piercing into Itako’s flesh.

“So not only do they keep you in the dark, they don’t even teach you to lie?”

Steaming hands grasped desperately at Razel’s forearm, the sputtering flames calming as his will to fight was sapped through his neck. The hunter began to slump, his impending death prompting Razel to toss him aside and into the muck as his vitality began to leak. The ice mage once more threw out his hand, resolving the frozen helix from his fingertips. This time, however, the length was a full twice that of his arm. Itako weakly worked himself upright, baring the back of his head to the elements. The augur drove clean through the knot in the blindfold, piercing the wrap through its front as well. Razel closed his eyes as he indiscriminately began tearing parts of Itako’s mind away, offering each thought only a cursory examination.

The shriveled tracker gaped dumbly at his surroundings, his thoughts compromised before the sacrament. The mind had already begun to decay, and several whims faded mid-pull. A glowing recollection called to him, revealing a path and intent leading him back to Itako’s previous locale. A whiff of sulfur and a tinge of oil complimented the soft whisper of its name, the syllables lilting into the abyss as Itako’s body dissipated its essences.

_Foundry…_

Razel broke the spike from his fingers, leaving it embedded within the head. As Itako's body collapsed, the flesh stopped steaming. Razel panted out of reflex, his energies spent. There was no sense in trying to flee again. Not this time. The seniority of his file was worrisome. Rifling through the tracker’s robes yielded only a Mana battery and the standard-issue suppressor. He broke the artifacts without a second thought.

“May as well be rid of any other shadows following me.”

With no witnesses, he stepped into the eternities, bobbing through the nothingness as he sought a quiet place to recover before the hunters became the hunted.


	19. [IK04] – With no Direction

The door opens into a compact playhouse attached to a bar, the stage currently mobbed by a swarm of cultists intoxicated through more than just liquor. The three parties onstage make their roles painfully clear. The referee, at the back, oversees the proceedings. This revue is run by an individual who has flensed the flesh from their face, the skeletal grimace unwaveringly taking in the proceedings. One ‘combatant’, a short dwarven fellow in stolen Izzet attire, seeks to overcome the lyrical witticism of a particularly unpleasant ogre female.

“- _your diversion’s just décor!_

_You don’t carry any power, but make it look awful scary,_

_So step yourself down and get right out of our door!"_

The crowd seems to enjoy this. You can’t make sense of what has been said prior, but the realization that you are next brings a noticeable melancholy to the whole evening. The loser is shoved off the stage, directly into the pit of brawling cultists. The Ogre is set upon by the hedonistic berserkers, the noises following make you glad you looked away to face the bar instead. You manage to reach the bartender, his sweaty brow looking more due to the patronage than due to his exertion.

“Wh..What can I get you, Inquisitor?”

You smile as you remember your position within your Guild.

“A Pan-Galac, please.”

He raises an eyebrow, but pours you the drink regardless. You ordered the strongest you could think of, hoping the liquor would lubricate a creative flow. You look around, trying to spot a sign of some kind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see what you think are random patrons watching you, none of whom are when you actually look to them.

_This is the place, all right._

You flag down the bartender, ignoring the ranting of the crowd and the barking of their handler.

“Hey…I need some help.”

The bartender looks at you cautiously, his worried stare darting from you to the crowd.

“Like…how?”

“Do you have any guests at the moment? I was sent to meet a comrade; however, I fear he was not specific in his directions.”

He wrung his hands nervously and leaned in.

“And what do you do?”

You lean in as well, noting the increase in attention from a robed individual further down.

“We work with memories. Nothing you want to know too much about.”

The robed fellow turns to face you, his beard reminding you of someone from long past. Your eyes meet for a moment and he cocks his head at you.

“Talk to that man there. He’ll help you.”

You move down a few seats, sitting comfortably beside the man. He speaks to you quietly but clearly.

“We’ve been expecting you, Inquisitor. Follow me.”

He stands and leads you behind the bar, making you sigh with relief. You see the door guard making his way to the stage just as you duck through a passageway, beyond the storehouse and upstairs to a small office. The room is dimly lit, flickering candles revealing portraits on each wall, but only barely illuminating the party across the way. As you step into the room, the door closes behind you, shutting out all noise from downstairs. The robes leave no question as to his allegiance, the pointed shoulders and fitted waist providing a signature silhouette. You step forward and speak.

“Pomas sent me. I-“

“We know who you are. He let us know the moment you left. You are lucky, Inquisitor, in that he has proven valuable to us. We would not consider assisting you otherwise.”

You smile, gesturing your humility.

“Of course. He told me as much himself. I appreciate this beyond my capacity to convey.”

He steps forward, the large string of beads draped from his neck glinting in the light.

“You may refer to me as Washus for the time being. You will not remember that name past tonight.”

You nod.

“I expected as much. I do not wish to compromise any of your secrets, I simply wish to regain my mental faculty.”

“So we hear. Please, sit.”

He gestures to a fine hide chair, the bolted krovod leather cracked from uncounted uses. You move up to it, resting comfortably within the seat. He steps up behind you, resting his hands on either side of your head.

“I’m not here to socialize. Let’s get this over with.”

This invasion is different from before. Washus is cold and efficient, causing intense but localized streams of pain to radiate throughout your head. You fail to even experience a change in your perceptions as he rummages through your mind, his training keeping you from noting the actions within. He pulls his hands away, the pain still thrumming through your temples. His voice sounds from behind you, laced with confusion.

“Let me try that once more.”

The pain is more intense, still restrained to streams of agony but with more of them blossoming as he digs through your paths of memory. You grimace, grinding your teeth together. The pain ceases abruptly, while Washus grasps the crown of the chair. His voice is quiet and irritable.

“I have news for you.”

The migraine pulses its way through your brain.

“Of course.”

“This is not our work.”

You furrow your brow.

“But…then who…?”

Washus steps around you, leaning against an armoire across the room. He looks deep in thought, and partially disturbed. He answers you with hesitation.

“Whoever did this is both better and worse than we are at memory manipulation.”

“How…”

“They are better in that the memories they have removed are gone. Entirely. They simply aren’t there. When we take your thoughts, there is still the chance of some errant connection reconstituting your recollection of the event. With this? I regret to inform you, but your memories don’t exist.”

You refuse to believe him. There has to be some mistake. You begin to panic as he goes on.

“However, they are worse in that they only removed your memories. The mind is a complex thing, and multiple types of recollective stimuli are utilized to remember. There are basic things in your head – reflexes, patterns, spells – things that are simply there, with no reason. You have fears that hail from events you will never recall. Feelings for someone you will never remember. I will say this – at least when we do our work, you won’t notice it after the fact.”

You start to say something, but think better of it. The loud explosion from downstairs and the following cacophony is a sign that this is a wise choice. Washus bolts to the window, turning to offer a final piece of advice.

“I am sorry we could not help you, Inquisitor. However, speak of me to anyone and I will personally ensure you fail to speak ever again.”

With a dive out of the window, the Excisor is gone.

The door slams open, propelled by a plated foot. A familiar suit of shining armor plods into the room, stopping halfway to your chair as it recognizes you from a few days earlier.

“Inquisitor…?”

You smile wanly and stand to face the Azorius agent, your frustration with the situation overriding any attempt at tête-à-tête.

“Justicar Myra. Welcome to my nightmare. How has yours been?”

“Better than yours, it would seem. Might I ask why I am finding you above a Rakdos revue amid rumors of Dimir intrigue?”

“I have not been myself as of late.”

She scoffs lightheartedly.

“I’d noticed. Why is that?”

You hang your head in defeat, irritation and hopelessness bubbling within you.

“I fear my mind has been manipulated without my consent. I had thought it was Rakdos initially, but my sources led me here, where the shadows themselves informed me that it was not their work. Someone is out to get me, Law mage.”

Myra sheaths her sword, walking up and taking you by the arm. The concern in her eyes would be alarming were you allowing yourself to feel anything. The ruckus below starts to quiet down as the last of the cultists are suppressed, while another explosion quakes the floor. Myra urges you on.

“Come with me, Inquisitor. We’ve had our differences in the past, but I think you’re in deeper than you want to be right now. Let me escort you back to your tenement.”

You brush her hand off your arm, a fake smile masking your face.

“No need. I’m entirely capable of returning on my own.”

Her hand finds yours again, grasping you tighter this time.

“I insist.”

The hint is not lost on you as you look to her, cocking an eyebrow but complying regardless. Her position of authority could be troublesome, but you suspected her motives to be much less than legalities. As a pair, the two of you waltz from the room, down the stairs and past the suspects lined up against the wall, the master of ceremonies screaming at you as you walk past.

“HEY! YOU ARE HERE! YOU OWE US LYRICAL COMBAT, YOU-“

Ignorance is all he deserves, and you give it to him in spades. The two of you stop briefly before the captain coordinating the raid with Myra, updating him as to the situation. She speaks loudly and firmly, her voice clear above the noise.

“I am escorting the Inquisitor back to his Basilica. The Orzhov have requested a report and are willing to offer us a payment for it.”

He looks visibly relieved, loosening his shoulders and hunching over.

“Oh good. We can finally get that new series of locks for the cage house.”

Myra nods enthusiastically.

“Precisely. I’ll go file some paperwork and be back within the week, ideally with a pouch full of updated safety regulations.”

He smiles and waves the two of you on, nodding at you as you stride past. You pass a large transport parked outside the bar, the open doors offering a glimpse of the Intel agent working within. You pay him no mind as you both continue down the street. For many blocks you walk in silence, your company enough for the moment. Eventually she speaks.

“If you are the target of some ‘scheme’, perhaps your residence is not the safest place to be at the moment.”

You look to the Justicar, narrowing your eyes and raising your eyebrows in suspicion.

“What, pray tell, are you suggesting, your Honor?”

The title brings a smile to her lips as she relaxes further. You forget your previous feud entirely as you simply take comfort in having someone there. She elaborates bemusedly.

“Well, I’m suggesting that if you need somewhere to be for the next few nights…I may be able to offer you a safe retreat.”

You grin and look forward, running thoughts and possibilities through your mind. Few of them are fit to share. Instead, you keep the conversation alive.

“I think…I think that would be a fabulous idea. I can’t be too careful at the moment. Maybe being away for a bit is precisely what I need.”

You try to relax, but the hopelessness of your mental state pulls heavily at your mind. The comments from the Excisor do not sit well. Who could you have dealt with that would be capable of completely removing a memory? What could you have done to draw their ire? How can you recover what was lost? For that matter, CAN you recover your missing memories? The flow of inspiration is not a cheerful one. Myra squeezes your arm slightly, looking to you with genuine worry that hits you harder than you want it to.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?”

You push the thoughts from your head, resigning not to think about the situation for the remainder of your night. There is no sense in maintaining your sadness when it will fail to affect anything that could help solve the issue. Instead you bring back your smile, taking a chance and embracing the opportunity to get to know your escort.

“I will be fine, Justicar. Thank you for your concern.”

Her look of relief is brief, but comforting. You decide to verify a devious suspicion.

“So, how far to your place?”

She looks about, not realizing that she was giving away her plans and gesturing to a fountain further on.

“Not too far past the Province Market. We should be there before the day breaks.”

Now assured that you are accompanying her home, you vow to maintain a professional composure. A small part of you knows better.


	20. Machine Priests

The stench of unwashed masses filled the safety of the dome. The magical shield erected over the settlement to protect from the sudden violence of their weather had thrummed sub-audibly for years now. Many of the inhabitants longed for the days where their world was filled with light and life, before the darkening of the skies. Beggars and Refugees lined the streets, most from distant places whose protections had failed them for one reason or another. Several coughed sickly into their hands, the mucus thick with the oily black smog that choked the air beyond their shields. A cart made its way along the road, piling the freshly dead on to it so that they could be disposed of in a relatively sanitary manner.

A back alleyway held a roped off civil engineering project, the structure half-built and seemingly never to be finished. The exposed struts had begun to rust, while the warnings showed signs of continual re-application. A small room missing most of a wall and ceiling was nevertheless sufficiently hidden from public view to mask the arrival of the Planeswalker. The air in the room shattered, making the sound of a glacier calving. Razel resolved himself into the building, dropping to a crouch and scurrying over to a window. He peered over the edge of the sill, looking for an example to model his attire on.

A sickly old man wobbled into view, leaning harshly on the wall as he fought to stay upright. After a few steps, he gave in, collapsing on the floor. Razel nodded at the old man, silently expressing his condolences. The finer points of the situation escaped him, but suffering was omniversally recognized. The garb containing him was basic and filthy, with subtle patterns showing a history of prior quality that had since been worn and faded from view. The ‘walker placed himself within a robe of similar design, swapping a color here or there and fitting the cut to better reflect his physique. His hands rubbed his face vigorously, leaving behind dark circles beneath his eyes and a haggard, worn appearance. In moments the mage had gone from planeswalker chic to derelicté.

Stepping out from under the partially-constructed building, Razel took note of the flickering energy above. The shields surged as a fierce wind battered it from outside, only just audible over the bustle of the town. He trudged out of the alleyways and toward a main thoroughfare, hoping to get a semblance of direction. Turning a corner, Razel was confronted with the severity of Foundry’s situation. The refugees ignored him entirely, used to the everyday appearance of newcomers left without a home. Families huddled together while priests followed behind the carts, chanting their hymns and swinging their censers.

Razel stepped out of the way of an oncoming cart, bowing his head as they passed. The faint tinge of oil caught his attention as the priest walked past, as did a portion of the Hymn:

“-all will be one. Blessed is the Father of Machines. Blessed is the Grand Cenobite. Blessed is the Augur…“

_I would not have stayed as long as I did if every hunt was like the first. The second was much less nebulous; a necromancer sought to leave and become a god, while we made sure he at least got to meet his. The third was an artificer obsessed with creating a machine to destroy entire planar clusters. We shut him down and erased him. In time, I nearly forgot C’Thon._

_Rokh never let it affect him. Not that I expected it to. He had been doing this for significantly longer than he would ever admit, and I was certain he had come to terms with whatever qualms he may have once had He never tried to speak of it again after the fact, something I came to see was common with his assignments. Once something was done, it was done, and there was no need to debate it._

_My studies were now turned toward that which best assisted me in the hunts, with more time spent in the arena to keep my reflexes sharp. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the assignments that deserved what we brought them. It was a requirement that we offer each target the opportunity to join us before we eliminated them. Most declined, some violently, but a few took us up on the offer._

_My first encounter with a planeswalker from outside the Academy was short. While tracking a potential liability through a series of canyons, Rokh and I spotted the ‘walker far enough out that he did not perceive us. I did as I always had when I was unsure. I asked._

_“What is our policy on Planeswalkers outside of the Academy?”_

_“We have a strict field policy of non-interaction. There are very specific cases where this is waived. In general, if you come across a wild ‘walker, Avoid them. Engaging or contacting them will breach our secrecy. Remember, only those who are a part of it may know of the Academy. Not only that, it may delay or compromise your current assignment, which should always be your priority.”_

_“So when do we do anything about them?”_

_“You are only authorized to engage them either in self-defense or if they are between you and your assignment. In both cases, make the offer before you eliminate them.”_

Razel scoffed quietly to himself as he entered the small church. A lifetime of Orzhov overcompensation left most other religious structures rather underwhelming. The traditional idols and statuettes had been ignored, instead maintaining a series of reliefs and motifs along the wall, depicting various stages of mechanical evolution. The images were similar enough to ones he had seen before to spur an impulsive flare of panic. The ‘walker shuddered as he considered the circumstances. There had always been the possibility of being wrong. The creature he had glimpsed within Sudaj’s mind could have been any number of things, even if it was oddly versed in interplanar travel. But now, confronted with a living church before him, he could not deny the obvious.

_Phyrexia is back…and it is spreading._

Razel limped over to the nearest priest, the cleric’s hands busy polishing a depiction of one of their idols.

“Excuse me…”

The priest raised his head, turning eyes white with cataracts to peer blindly in Razel’s direction.

“Yes, my son?”

“I only recently arrived. I fear I am not as familiar with this place as I would like to be. Are you able to help me?”

The priest smiled, nodding gently as he set down his rag.

“I will take you to our Exarch. He personally oversees each and every inductee from our humble parish. He will be able to help you.”

“Thank you.”

The priest felt his way along the wall, running fingers over the relief and mumbling psalms to himself as he led the guest to a stairwell. The two of them climbed below the church, entering a larger hall beneath. The reliefs began to grow more and more ornate as they approached the personal chambers of the Exarch, clearly delineated by the grand candelabras flanking its doors. The priest waved a hand about gingerly, feeling the heat of the candles and motioning to the door.

“Right inside. He may be busy, as we just finished with a large group from the south, but we always have time for a new piece of the machine.”

Razel patted the priest on the shoulder, limping over to the door and pulling it open. The office beyond is conspicuously devoid of the carvings in the hall, the walls still untreated stone. The man in the habit behind the desk took notice of the newcomer’s interest, answering the question he didn’t need to ask.

“This office is rather new, I am afraid. They haven’t had the time to provide my etchings. I am not surprised, considering the state of things. I am Exarch Kun. What shall I call you, my son?”

Razel stepped fully into the office, closing the door behind him.

“I can’t remember. Whatever took out my home took my memories with it.”

The Exarch bridged his fingers, furrowing his brow in concern. Razel was reminded briefly of the Pontiff within his Basilica.

“This is most unfortunate. It is bad enough the skies have blackened, the ground trembles, and the shields fail. But when what is within is compromised along with what is without…we are lost. You are in the right place, my son. We can help you.”

Razel forced a smile.

“Thank you. How do I go about becoming a part of your…machine?”

The Exarch stood from his chair, walking to his guest and taking him by the shoulder.

“You are a creature of awful luck but wondrous timing. I have just finished preparations for a pilgrimage to the Foundry. If you wish to be reborn as a part of our machine, then all you have to do is one simple thing- follow me.”

_Rokh never talked about his home plane. I had long since written out what fleeting memories of my home I could pull, before they faded away. My continued review of them ensured that the memories never truly died, even if they grew to be so unclear that they may as well have been suggestions. I eventually learned of his origin while reviewing a particularly thorough Speciary. The image drawn as an example bore an uncanny resemblance to my mentor, although I feel that may have been due to lack of familiarity with their race. Their home world was described as a plane of living metal, shaped by a mighty hand and left to grow._

_I brought up the description, blatantly confronting him about his past. This was one of the few times I saw him agitated, as though he were just as uncomfortable talking about his source as he was the Eldrazi._

_“I don’t remember much about it. I have vague memories of a glimmering sea of steel, but…”_

_I lent him the book after that to grant him a peek into his past. I never saw it or heard of it again._

_Failed attempts at inquiry aside, Rokh and I continued as we had before. I had gotten used to the position, and was comfortable enough in it that when the individual cases arose where I questioned the morality of our actions, they were followed by clear-cut examples of malevolence and greed. I began to view our job as less of a hunt and more of a patrol. I understood the logic behind keeping planeswalkers under control._

_Aside from the Hunters, the Academy also employed a variety of other specialist parties. As Rokh began to run out of things to teach me, I would often work on my own with the Intel division in order to track or investigate reports of interplanar phenomena, acting as a scout to the Hunters who would then follow-up on the cases I found warranting it. We would be also be charged with testing or escorting items which had been designed by the Academy’s Research and Development branch, acting as a security force within the Academy as well. Compartmentalization followed each part of the consortium save the Hunters, who worked with all the other parties to realize their varied goals._

_The Research division is responsible for a respectable portion of my success regarding leaving the Academy. A project looking into the finer functions of a Planar Rift had need of a Hunter in order to test specific theories regarding perception and utilization of the Rifts. The researchers told me that they couldn’t perform the tests themselves as they had to record the result; however, I think they were either incapable or afraid. Regardless, they had artificially initiated a Rift, normally a capital offense within the Academy, but allowed under the controlled circumstances of the lab. I stood before it for hours, poking and prodding and narrating my senses. A revelation came when the researchers asked me to attempt to ‘read’ the rift like a planar scar. I normally reserved my questions for afterward, however the curiosity overwhelmed me._

_“This is a Rift. Not a Scar. Why and how would I be able to ‘read’ it?”_

_“We created the Rift through compacting scars. Enough in proximity destabilize the space they’re in. Now stop your questions and answer ours.”_

_I dug into the rift with my mind, finding visions of past, future, and alternate present. No trails stood out. I dug deeper, still to no avail._

_I left the researchers pleased with the result and unaware that I now possessed the knowledge required to cut off an interplanar trail._


	21. When in Rome

The caravan was filled to the brim with inductees, every available seat occupied by the feeble, while those capable plodded along beside it. The Priests leading the armored beast in the front of the train maintained a constant murmur as they continually invoked their hymns. Razel stood near the back, keeping his eyes on the group before him. No sign of malcontent was evident during the entire leg of the journey from the church to the gate. The guard, seeing their approach, motioned to open the inner door of the lock. The pilgrims piled into the compact quarantine, the gate sealing behind them as the last stepped in. A hiss from the outer door was followed by the deafening roar of the wind tearing past the dome outside, massive banks of dust rolling across the waste and obscuring whole fields of view.

The caravan trudged aimlessly beyond the barrier, the wind whipping their fabrics about and rubbing many of them raw. The collectively ignored their discomfort, focusing on the hope for a life away from their troubles as a piece of the machine. Razel picked up his pace, striding beside a cleric near the back.

“Where, exactly, is the Foundry?”

The Priest nodded in the direction the caravan was traveling.

“A while in this direction. You must be the amnesiac.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I can’t remember anything before I woke up in the city. I don’t remember my own name, let alone where I’m from. I hope the clergy can help me find my place.”

“The Foundry is our source of strength in these literally dark times. You will see.”

“What is the Foundry, anyway?”

The priest covered his face as a particularly vicious gust swept through them. His response was muffled by the winds.

“It is our Monastery. All of us must make the pilgrimage at the time of induction.”

Razel thanked the priest for his assistance and fell again to the back of the group, keeping as few individuals behind him as possible. Whatever the ‘Foundry’ was, it certainly wasn’t good. The refugees were silent for the majority of the trek, rotating places within the wagons to allow each proper rest. Food was not provided, as the priests claimed that ‘once you have become a piece of the machine, you will never want for sustenance’. The terrain remained desolate and withered, with the corpses of the natural flora and fauna dotting the landscape as dust built up against their bodies. The low light that penetrated the thick black clouds above cast damning shadows in every direction, most of which couldn’t be seen past the dust that swirled around them.

On the final leg of the pilgrimage, the footing became perilous. The road met the base of a mountain, winding about the foothills and up the summit. The winds grew faster and harsher as they gained elevation, culminating near gale-force by the time the travelers came to a stop. The beast leading the train sensed the door before it was visible, slowing until it came to rest in front of a tall cliff. A large gate, higher than some of the buildings in the town, loomed over the pilgrims. The aura of dominion was overwhelming to the Planeswalker, his heightened senses perceiving the countless abominations below. Razel wobbled in his steps as he sought to compress the perception as well as his own energies. The Exarch stepped up to the door, placing his hand lightly upon the seam running down the center of the gate.

“My children…we have arrived.”

_My earlier observation that the Academy would teach you about everything but itself was only partially hyperbole. I came to learn that there were very specific subjects whose access was restricted to certain parties. Things such as Planeswalker physiology, manipulation of planar Scars, the structure of the Academy…all these things were deemed too sensitive to be available to the entirety of the consortium. This served to make the assignments from Research & Development another of the factors that prolonged my stay. I have already admitted curiosity to a fault. Things I am told I should not know or be able to do are suddenly obsessive goals, inevitably spurring me to either find a solution or an alternate method. While I understand the inevitability of failure, I refuse to expect it._

_I obtained my orders directly from Rokh, leading me to suspect that he held a position of respect. Once or twice a Golem would pull me from my class to fetch me, but inevitably it was on Rokh’s orders. I spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating the things I overheard, often using inspirations or ideas therein to spur my next choice of class. By learning to read between the lines and cleverly phrase my questions, I managed to eke out answers to some of my more burning questions._

_Despite the temptation, I managed to avoid utilizing any further duplicates throughout my tenure in the Academy. Having multiples of myself, while convenient, would be very conspicuous, especially where my position was concerned. This is ignoring the hesitation I still cultured from last time, not wanting to deal with the side effects of possible rampancy. I managed to keep the spell secret, putting off any semblance of unusual activity as faulty recollection and backed up by my integrated memories from the Aught itself._

_My departure, all things considered, was underwhelming. After the lifetimes spent fulfilling my assignments to the letter, the illusion of propriety I had built up surrounding them began to falter. My final assignment came in from a messenger sent by Rokh. A member of the R &D team, during a ‘routine’ series of experiments, had gone missing. I was to retrieve him, preferably intact, as their project was held in high regard. The nature of the experiment was not elaborated upon, although this was not unusual. With a ritual built from countless repetitions of the motions, I stocked up in the ready room and set the Dias to follow his scar._

The massive doors rumbled open, the light from within blinding them temporarily as the pilgrims stepped into the shelter of the Monastery. The refugees began to unwrap their cowls, taking in the splendor and horror of the sight before them. The interior of the mountain had been hollowed out and reinforced, lined with concentric arches that braced the rock like a series of colossal ribs. Within the massive cavern was erected a Citadel, the base far beneath their feet and the pinnacle far above. Large membranes were stretched across the walls, almost as if the tower were meant to have a skin of its own. The platform they found themselves on ran a ring around the cave, with various lifts and transports shuttling the occupants from level to level. The scent of oil was cloying within the monastery, filling their noses.

Gasps and shrieks slipped out of the visitors as they saw the creatures. A multitude of abominations went about their business, paying the pilgrims no mind. Their flesh had been stretched thin over an artificial frame, with two thematic groups discernible among them. The most numerous were the needle-wielders, their unnatural smiles cemented within steel lips, lacking any other semblance of a proper face. They varied in size from shorter than a wagon wheel to taller than the carriage itself, with all manner of variant in between. The others were fewer in number, but appeared to hold more authority. Their frames were encased in the same layered flesh as the others, but with porcelain segments grafted to their body in ways that must have been aesthetically pleasing to their deities.

Razel’s eyes widened as he fought back the impulse to open a void within the room, knowing he had to maintain subtlety for the time being. The Exarch walked up to the railing, turning to address his congregation.

“Do not be alarmed, my children. This is the blessing the Father of Machines can bestow upon you. These are the disciples of the Father, his divine servants. They are here to oversee our glorious work and to ensure that the Father’s gifts are distributed to those who have proven themselves in his eyes.”

The broken and beaten pilgrims weighed their options, many already accepting them as presented. Too much had been taken from them to care if they lost any more, making any promise more than they could stand to refuse. Slowly, they group made their way to the Exarch, following him towards the nearest lift. Razel quietly slipped away from the group, ducking behind a pylon as they passed. Preparing himself for extreme discomfort, he absorbed his robes, reshaping himself into a variant of the porcelain priests he had seen moments before. Razel inspected his pointed fingers, grazing them over his exposed flesh. Making sure to maintain an air of superiority, the imitation strode purposefully towards a lift.

_The researcher, name of Karl, was a ‘human’ of Moorish complexion and ravenous intellect. Finding him wasn’t very difficult, although I was surprised to see him conscious. Previous attempts at rescuing researchers almost always involved saving them from their own mistakes, be it a project that had escaped or a creation functioning outside of its intended parameters. This one, however, almost seemed to be expecting me._

_“Yes, yes, you’re just in time. Come over here and watch as I test the final phase of the device.”_

_My instructions were to keep him intact, so I felt there was no harm in humoring him temporarily. The room he was in overlooked a large port, the occupants bustling about their daily lives. Ships filled the harbor. The sounds of industry and commerce granted a backdrop of noise to the affair. As I took my place beside him I saw his hand flip a switch, initializing some series of mechanisms beneath our feet. The room shook violently. Karl only smiled. The ratcheting stopped, followed by a resonant gong. A ripple of energy flowed from the base of the cliff, enveloping the town as it swept across the buildings and ran through the streets. The wave instantaneously killed everything it came in contact with, and I watched in confusion as the townsfolk dropped like so many dominoes. As the wave propagated, a flash from the deck of a ship that had yet to reach the port brought a grin to Karl’s face. I stepped back, aghast._

_“Complete success! Did you see?! That was an ignition, I’m sure of it!”_

_It took me a minute to put two and two together._

_“You…killed them all? Just to see if any would ignite?”_

_“Yes. Well, the death was an unfortunate side-effect, but it only affects those without a spark, so there’s no real loss.”_

_This, I think, is where I cracked. I was furious. I was no stranger to the taking of life, but indiscriminate slaughter was not my style. Even when I decimate a population, there is a better reason than ‘just because’. I subtly activated my lock, and then I made sure Karl knew how I felt before I took action._

_“That was wrong.”_

_“What? No, it was within a 15% error margin. Complete success.”_

_“You exemplify everything that is wrong with our institution.”_

_“I...wait, what? Me? What did I do?”_

_His ignorance only needled me on._

_“We are told we are protectors of the Multiverse, meant to keep our kin from indiscriminately eradicating life as we know it. Yet you do things like…like this.”_

_He knew something was wrong. He looked worried, and he vibrated repeatedly as he tried to ‘walk and found himself incapable._

_“Please…This is just an experiment, I was only trying to bolster our numbers-“_

_“Through the genocide of those who aren’t us? How is this protecting the Multiverse?”_

_He couldn’t answer me before I speared his chest with my fingers, sapping him to a withered husk in moments. I tossed it aside. His empty shell fell gracefully from his window, landing without nearly as satisfying a sound as I had hoped. I made my way outside, standing on a clearing overlooking the ghost town. I couldn’t bring myself to support an institution that knowingly encouraged these processes. I recalled the previous assignments which left feelings of uncertainty, the suppressed displeasure seeping into my thoughts. The decision not to return was hurried, but final. Not only had I directly disobeyed an order, I had executed someone I had been charged to protect. I thought back to the assignment with the rift, and how it masked any scar used to create it._

_Going against everything I had been taught for aeons to this point, I tore the largest hole in space and time I could and sent myself through it._


	22. [IK05] – Lost in your Head

Your eyes blink open, the grogginess of sleep still clouding your vision. You adjust yourself beneath the soft cotton, rolling over to rest your arm on the woman beside you. Her skin is warm, goosebumping as you run your fingers down her back. The night was not intended to end that way, but you can’t complain. Allowing yourself a chance to connect with another helped to reassure your shaky view of the world around you. You wonder vaguely what will change tomorrow, how the continued volley of chaos could possibly intensify. Deciding against worrying about it any further, you close your eyes, enjoying the peace while you can.

**_Razel_ ** _._

_You float through the wall in front of you, a bright glow drawing you in_.

**_You have not responded. Others would be offended by these actions._ **

_Your curiosity blossoms, while the lotuses that follow the metaphor collect around your ankles. A short stairway climbs the sudden island, sense built into a realm of confusion. The statue within the shrine is the same from your daydreams earlier, except much more vivid. The Mask glides down to your level, its robe billowing eternally. Several hands peek out of either side, their sharp red nails clicking against each other._

**_Why do you not reply? Are you-_ **

_The billowing stops. The hands retreat. The statue returns to dormancy and the presence departs._

You wake the next morning, the dream lingering in your mind yet defying any attempts to decipher it. Visions of the mask cling to the back of your eyes, regardless of your attempts to be rid of it. You sit upward, resting on the edge of the bed. So much happening in such little time. You can practically feel a bowstring pressed against your neck, urging you into adversity. You don’t much care for it. In fact, you wish it would hurry up and snap already.

Myra wakes behind you, rolling over and resting her head on her hand. She looks at you pleasantly.

“Good morning, Inquisitor. I see you rise early, like your black sun.”

The reference to your attire draws your attention to the haphazardly tossed robe, draped over an armor rack in the corner. You walk over to it, lazily pulling it over your head as she speaks again.

“What, already?” She sighs heavily. “I suppose we do have things to see to.”

She removes herself from the bed, her back arching as she stretches. Your eyes dart to her vanity mirror to watch her dress. A smirk sneaks onto your face, the first you can remember in a long while. You tie your belt, stepping into your boots and turning to face the now padded Justicar. Her under armor is a terrible fit, unlike to dress plate she had been wearing the night prior. The generic uniform offered no flattery to her gorgeous form, although with your specific knowledge in that area you can make out a few of your favorite shapes. You reach out, wrenching her in to you for a kiss. You press your lips furiously into hers, stopping abruptly and shoving her back to where she was. You turn, leaving before she has a chance to recover. Clearing your head of distraction, you step past her and straight to the door, not waiting for her to finish dressing.

“Hey, hold on!”

You stop, turning around to smile deviously at her. You explain your intention.

“You have sources. Find my apartment and meet me there in a week. We will…reconvene…at that point.”

You pull a small golden key from your pocket, knowing you have a spare.

“You might need this.”

The start of her reply cuts short as you turn and flick the key behind you, forcing her to scramble to catch it. You leave her apartment, closing the door as you go. Spying the window at the end of the hall, you walk briskly to it, vaulting the sill and dropping to the terrace below. You land deftly on your feet, crouching out of reflex to cushion your fall. Forcing the wellspring of memories from the night before out of your mind, you look around, spotting another terrace a story below. You vault to this one as well, sliding down the ladder across the way to the street level.

The streets are lively, the morning crowd filling the roads like clockwork. You take a moment to regain your bearings, recognizing the fountain from the night before. Your mind wanders as you walk, running the past several days in your head. The memory of your dream is fainter now, only a generic sense of the presence within the statue. You remember what Washus told you, and you frown deeply.

_It’s done, regardless._

Truth. There was nothing more you could do about your memories. You tried the best avenues available to you, and both were seemingly outclassed. You learned much because of these things, but somehow you doubt it makes up for what you’ve lost. Your life will have to continue on as it did before.

Resolving to stop caring, you put the situation from your mind and instead begin to contemplate your work. You have missed a lot recently, and your evaluations have probably piled up. It isn’t a worry for you, as you decide most things shouldn’t be. You simply note it and put it away.

You are acutely aware of a much lower level of fear. Almost clinically aware. You decide it is due to the night’s ‘activities’ relieving your stress. You take the opportunity to hum a tune you can’t place the source of.

You turn down a causeway, spotting the tip of the Basilica’s grand spire between several buildings. An ancient gardener is hunched over the gutter, either gathering or germinating. You can’t tell which and you aren’t sure you want to. You walk gingerly past him, eying one of the storefronts.

“Inquisitor! Are you well?”

You come to a stop, turning to face the Golgari. You have no idea who he is, yet he looks familiar to you. There is blatant recognition in his face as he approaches you, cramming something in his pouch.

“I am sad you did not take my advice, Razel. You could use…a…”

Your confusion is made clear on your face, and you feel as though you should recognize the name. The Gardener’s face changes to a vignette of bemusement. He half-mutters his response.

“Oh my. I didn’t expect you to actually go through with THAT part of the suggestion.”

He clears his throat loudly.

“I apologize for wasting your time, Inquisitor. I mistook you for someone else.”

He turns to walk away, plodding into the alleyway. You simply stand there, dumbstruck, as the sea of people flows around you.

_So many strange things today._

You return to your walk, now worried you may be on the verge of losing your control again. You step into the storefront you were eying idly, ignoring the cascade of chimes and browsing the wares as your thoughts continue to ruminate.

_That name…_

The shopkeep looks at you with terror in his eyes and swallows loudly. The artifacts are organized in neat sections, designed to appeal to any prospective customers. The smell of fresh paint fills the store, a freshly patched wall still wet with color. You feel your gaze drawn to the wicked spikes atop a shelf behind his register, supporting an old ‘not for sale’ sign. You walk between the tables, pausing to admire the objects. You’ve been here before…

“W-What can I help you f-find, S-sir?”

A glimmer of recognition sparks in your mind. Images escape you, but the stutter remains. You look to the owner, your expression unsure. Your gaze dances about, again spying the caged gem atop the shelf. You hear an audible gulp as the owner watches your eyes, knowing precisely what you are looking at. You stare unabashedly, stepping between the tables to lean against the checkout counter. The shopkeep backs away as you approach, keeping his distance but maintaining respect.

“S-Sir?”

Your mouth agape, you look to him, closing it suddenly as you realize how you must look. Your thoughts whirl about faster than you can have them, leaving only room for questions.

“What’s your name?”

The owner is very confused by this. He looks to a sign behind him which reads ‘Welcome to Derrin’s Pawn’, making you feel rather stupid. He answers you regardless.

“M-My name is D-Derrin, sir.”

You stand firm, locking eyes with him.

“What’s on the shelf there?”

He stumbles over a few syllables, unsure of what you want him to say.

“It...well, you...It’s a sign of-of my devotion.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“What is it called?”

“It-it’s a Thought P-Prison, sir. It absorbs and restricts…thoughts. B-but it’s not for sale!”

The hurried addendum at the end spurs your curiosity deeper, driving you to seek more answers.

“Why are you afraid of me?”

As if to explain through example, his eyes opened wide. His voice cracks as he speaks to you.

“B-Because I know what will happen if I fail to pay my debts. I know what you do.”

“And what do I do?”

“You’re an In-Inquisitor. You make sure w-we pay, or else.”

He is telling the truth, albeit from a drastically different angle than you would. Your frustration builds as none of his responses provide any catharsis, instead making the situation worse. He recoils as you unconsciously raise your voice.

“Who am I?”

He shakes his head.

“You are an Inquisitor, you-“

You slam your palms on the counter, leaning in and screaming your response.

“WRONG! WHO AM I?!”

Derrin begins to cry, the tears welling up at the corners of his eyes before he squints them away. He retains a minimal control, forcing himself to squeak answers to your questions. The level of composure he displays would impress you were you not where you are. Instead it wears your patience thin, his delay grating against your need for answers.

“You are Inquisitor Korr of the Orzhov Syndicate.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?”

Derrin whimpers, hiding behind his hands.

“The Azorius agent mentioned it while they were asking me about the other day…please…”

You have a vision of Myra, draped in her fine cotton and moonlight. You snap back to yourself, seeing the terror in Derrin’s eyes and coming to the awful realization of how you’ve just treated him. You look to him ashamedly, mumble an apology, and run for the door. You throw it open, ignoring the two or three pedestrians that overheard your screaming. You storm away, mortified and terrified simultaneously. How could you do that? How could you let your emotions overrule your basic civil senses? Your actions appall you.

You turn without aim down alley after alley, seeking to be as far from the bustle as you can. You flee the sights, the people, all the distractions and intrigue. You make your way beneath the streets, collapsing in a forgotten catacomb. The walls are wet with mildew. You shake your head, breathing deep and noting the pungent tang.

Clearly you are unfit to be around others at the moment. Your temper and self-control are gone. Your focus, much as you try to change it, keeps returning to the things that have been happening, and in particular, the memories you lack. You curse whoever removed them, wishing you could spend a few minutes alone in a dark cellar with them. You kick a small rodent, sending it flying out of the room and splashing loudly into the sewage causeway. The light streaks through  
the dusty air from a grating above, triggering another glint of recognition and subsequent irritation. More curses are screamed into the cavern as you vent your frustrations.

A brief flash of the Gardener from before alights in your mind. You stop, thinking back to the encounter, running what he said through your head.

_He spoke to me as if he knew me._

So did the statue in your dream. Matter of fact, that was the second time someone, or something, had addressed you with familiarity unknown to you.

Come to think of it, what did the Statue call you again?

**_Razel…_ **

You stand in a flash, a piece of the puzzle rebuilding itself. Somehow the Gardener and the Statue both mistook you for the same individual. But how? How could someone be exactly you, and yet not? You think again to the way the Golgari spoke to you. His tone was one of recognition, and better yet, he was physical. The fact that you can theoretically speak to him again means that your obsession has found a new target. Your budding zealotry is rewarded by a flittering incentive, a tugging of your self towards some point further within the catacombs. Instinctually you realize that you are going to the Gardener’s home. A smile fills your face once more as you move with a purpose, setting course for a source of revelation. If anybody were to be capable of providing the answers you seek, you definitely feel it is him.

_Razel…who are you?_


	23. At Last

Ceramic fingers clicked against each other as the Planeswalker got used to his new form, adjusting quickly to the porcelain exoskeleton. His footfalls clicked against the hewn stone, carrying him to the lift. A short Phyrexian, his faceless grin forever emblazoned across his head, looked quizzically at the ‘priest’ approaching. He thought better of asking questions as Razel stepped to the lift, standing and expecting silent functionality. The treatment was expected, and dispelled some of the reservation the Phyrexian had. With a clunk of the switch, the winch turned on and began to lower them to the ‘ground’ level.

Razel held his hands behind his back, watching the Tower climb above him as he descended. A room below the entrance he had come through glowed brilliantly behind a grate, the mechanisms beyond currently being fine-tuned by the smilers. Looking about, he spied a small group of the porcelain priests standing in front of the pilgrims, the Exarch introducing them and explaining further. Razel couldn’t make out precisely what was being said, but he knew it to be inaccurate. Somehow he doubted that honesty was a popular commodity here. As the lift drew closer, the speech became clearer.

“-will be personally overseeing our group. I will be sending the rest of you with the Chaplain here, who will direct you to your first assignments. After your first shift, and after we have prepared them, we will show you to your quarters.”

A murmur of disapproval quickly faded.

“Yes, I know. Isn’t salvation worth any expenditure, though? Find your place within the machine and you will always be content with its workings. Now go on.”

Razel watched as they split into groups, two of the priests leading the half of the group with the Exarch towards the grating, while the rest were directed to a supply chamber to obtain picks and tools. The lift came to a noisy stop, clanging loudly against the floor. Stepping into the common area, Razel set his sights on the grating, ignoring all others around him and making a purposed path toward its entryway. His ruse carried him past the Phyrexians, each assuming he belonged and letting him about his business. The tower, while intriguing, was more than likely nothing but administrative. The glow was what drew his attention.

Razel heard the Exarch speaking to one of the priests as he strode past them, continuing on. The Phyrexian croaked eerily in its own language.

“-I’m not sure, but I know he was with us when we arrived.”

“ _This  
is not a new circumstance. We will locate the straggler and repurpose them, as we have those before._”

“Alright. I will get the others started on the tests.”

Stepping out of earshot, Razel wondered if they were referring to him. This meant he would have to be expedient about whatever he did, as it was only a matter of time before the entire Monastery was sealed to locate the missing pilgrim. Glancing through the grating from the opposite side, he noted the other group of refugees leaving the supply chamber, stocked with the tools of their newfound trade. The view disappeared behind the wall as he entered an antechamber. An excavation was underway, and from the appearance and locations of the miners it looked as though the room would be large and rectangular when done. The room was bathed in a shifting light, wavering between blue and white. An arch at the far end poured most of the illumination into the chamber, with a pair of guards flanking the doorway. Just beyond, a large machine was barely visible. A sphere of energy pulsed brightly, contained within several spires that held it steady.

A different priest approached the pair, making its way past them and into the room beyond with no harassment. Razel increased his stride, subtly projecting his false sense of urgency. The guards maintained their composure, not wavering nor looking to him. He strode past them and into the room beyond, silently thanking his patron for his luck. The machine, although primitive compared to some, was clearly an Interplanar portal. He slowed to a walk, taking in the details as he could. The power source was not obvious, and probably contained elsewhere if the conduits were any indication. A series of doors were built into the wall to his right, hidden from the greater monastery. Turning to walk completely around the machine, Razel looped back to the doors and stepped into one randomly.

The laboratory could be nothing but. Tubes, Specimens, Experiments, Equations, countless signs of frenzied intellect were strewn about. A set of pilgrims were strapped to a project further in, their mouths bound shut. A large brain floated in a hollow pylon, suspended in a viscous fluid. Sparks erupted from emitters and a subject let out a dull moan.

The body strapped to the table was unconscious while a matter of artifice was bolted to its head, an antenna rotating endlessly as it wound a figure eight. Razel stepped up to it, running his claws across its flesh. The lack of response failed to surprise him. He stooped over to inspect the machine further, coming to the realization that the ‘antenna’ was actually a needle which projected through and out of the back of the device. The swirling inside the creature’s head made an uncomfortable amount of sense as he caught on to the nature of the subject. The continued disruption of integral parts of the self prevented a complete healing from taking place, locking the poor soul in unconsciousness.

Razel placed a hand on the mechanism, grasping it tightly. The chance at a distraction combined with the opportunity to assist a fellow Planeswalker was something he did not plan to miss. With a firm wrench, the device broke off of its mount and slid wetly out of the ‘walker.

The brain bubbled in its pylon, drawing Razel’s attention. He contemplated breaking the glass. The planeswalker’s eyes batted open, and he recoiled impulsively from the ‘Priest’ above him. Razel brought his attention back to the captive, smiling without giving thought to how it must look. He gathered his bearings, staring at the object clasped within Razel’s claws.

“Why…why have you woken me? What do you want from me now?”

Razel crushed the machine, rubbing debris from his hands and stepping on the needle, snapping it.

“ _I, personally, want nothing from you._ ”

Confusion bloomed on his face as he tried to make sense of his situation. Razel reached to his restraints, unclipping them and offering his hand to help the ‘walker up. His uncertainty threatened to take over his face.

“Why are you doing this?”

Razel withdrew his hand, standing tall and placing his hands behind his back to project an image of regality.

“ _My reasons are my own. Do not concern yourself with them. I want you to do precisely as I say. If you do, you will live._ ”

The ‘walker nodded, his vigor starting to return.

“I won’t refuse charity. What do you want me to do?”

Razel extended an arm, unambiguously indicating the antechamber prior.

“ _Exit through the portal chamber. Do not planeswalk until you are in front of the tower. Do you understand?_ ”

The planeswalker vaulted to his feet, looking around the lab in disgust.

“Yeah. Well, whatever your power play is…”

He walked over to the doorway, turning back to finish his thought.

“…I hope it fails. Miserably.”

He took off at a sprint, rushing past the guards outside the main entry to the portal. The commotion rose in volume as the priests made chase, the screams drowning each other out. Razel strode to the doorway, waiting just behind it and ever so slightly out of view. As the security detail barged in, Razel stepped behind them unnoticed, slipping back into the portal room. A pair of the ceramic clerics ran across the chamber on the other side of the portal, leaving a far door ajar. Urgency spurred his steps as he crossed to the door, slipping in the crack and closing it behind him.

The ramp wound down into a pit, vats upon vats stored in the most compact way possible. Smells that defied description wafted through the cave. The workers within were all either blindfolded or visibly without sight, some with eyes sewn shut and some simply lacking the sockets. A few refugees toiled away while an Overseer wandered the floor, monitoring their efforts. The Monitor looked to Razel, cocking its head and trodding up the hill to meet him half way.

“ _Why are you here, Priest?_ ”

Razel again stood straight.

“ _A Planar-walker has escaped. I am to inquire among the humans as to the circumstances._ ”

The Phyrexian expressed his equivalent of disbelief, dropping the issue and turning to lead the way down. Razel took the chance to prepare his sacrament, extending an arm and readying to strike. A faint tugging at his mind caused him to hesitate, hoping that it was just his fellow Planeswalker escaping.

“ _STOP THE IMITATION!_ ”

Razel and the monitor spun around, facing the detachment at the doorway sent to seize the infiltrator. Seeing the icicle, the Monitor roared, swinging at the fraud. The Officers stormed down to trap him from both sides, cornering him against a bend in the path.

“ _You’ve nowhere to go, infiltrator. Surrender and we may allow your pieces to be sent to our Praetor._ ”

The ceramic melted from Razel, beading together and reforming his robe as his body rebuilt itself. Several of the officers stepped back, unsure of how to handle this. They exchanged confused looks, the Monitor showing several of them aside to get at the planeswalker.

“ _LET ME PREPARE HIS FLESH!_ ”

“Not today.”

Seeing no other egress, Razel stepped into the eternities, immediately finding himself in a new room, dropped in a cell with the ‘walker from before. The rime mage frowned deeply, knowing this was not where he meant to go. The tugging prior surfaced in his memory, suggesting a reason he certainly didn’t like. The other ‘walker bounded over to him, taking him by the shoulders and ranting.

“Stop ‘walking! You’ll only end up back here! I tried several times, always the same. Just trust me on this.”

Razel kept frowning, ignoring the other prisoner.

“Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes scanned the room, noting the same style of power conduit coming out of the wall and attaching to a large array of plates, each cut to wicked angles and assembled with a sense for both function and aesthetic. The blades radiated a pale light, a similar glow emitted by the bars of their cell. The ethereal pull revealed that the machine was generating the planar well, offering Razel a clear target.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Razel closed his eyes, visualizing the machine. The image lingered as he mentally familiarized himself with the device’s physical structure. His eyes snapped open, staring intently at the Well projector. The other ‘walker realized what he was doing, looking from Razel to the Well and back again.

“Is…Is that thing what’s doing it?”

Razel nodded gently, compressing his will on the machine. A loud slamming of a door preceded brisk footsteps, urging him to hurry. In an instant, the machine collapsed, the entirety of its existence compressed into the last second, condensing countless ages to utterly destroy the object. The glow faded from the bars, taking the tugging with it. His fellow ‘walker hollered with joy, shoving the door open and dashing up the stairs to confront his captor. Razel overheard a quick and efficient death, unsure of whom it had claimed. He sped over to the ruined machine, following the power source and resting a hand on the wall it attached to. The steps began to slow, drawing near the end of the stairwell. Not taking any chances, Razel ‘walked once more, not wanting to discover who among the Phyrexians knew of planar well technology. His shunting into the Portal room brought back his frown, which threatened to become a permanent feature. The seething mana contained in the portal drew him toward it, doubtlessly repurposed into an emergency well. It was a policy he was familiar with from his own days enforcing it. At the sound of approaching entities, he faced his captors with forced stoicism. His control fled as he saw the Vulshok leading the Phyrexian security, oil seeping from fissures which used to be igneous. Rokh stopped across from his former protégé, motioning for his minions to do the same.

“I’ve been looking for you.”


	24. No Shame in Flight

A legion of Phyrexians poured into the room, armor clanking as they lined the walls, preventing any escape. The ring of partisans shimmered in the light of the portal. Razel backed against the metal spears restraining the gate, ‘walking repeatedly and landing again and again inside the portal chamber. Rokh made his approach leisurely, the oily smile widening as he closed the distance to his former ward.

“Don’t engage. I have plans for him.”

Razel gave up trying to flee, severely disliking having nowhere to go. A creature capable of going anywhere does not like feeling trapped. He looked casually about the room, taking in the layout of the portal design. The jury-rigged Planar Well hummed dully.

“There’s nowhere for you to go, Roz. You know it as well as I do.”

Razel glared at his former mentor, his decisions made. Initiating his gamble, he spat a venomous retort.

“I’m not sure I ever want to know the things you know.”

Rokh looked hurt, clearly faking it.

“Oh, but if only you did. This is everything we were trying to do.”

Rokh raised his arms, motioning to the porcelain legionnaires which surrounded the two of them. He continued.

“Phyrexia. I know you’re aware of it. Did you know it had returned?”

“I’d heard rumors. Do you really intend to lecture me right now, Rokh? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Rokh scoffed, shaking his head.

“Roz, with you right here, I honestly don’t. The glorious work will continue without me while I take care of your situation. Do you have anything better to do?”

Razel nodded.

“There’s a tournament on Persea. I was invited as a guest of honor.”

Rokh faked a look of disapproval, stopping just within arm’s reach. Razel’s cheek burned in pain before he realized that he had been struck, the spurs on the back of Rokh’s hand scraping divots from his face and compacting the sheen of oil into his wound. Wincing, he tried again through gritted teeth.

“What about the Markets in Mercadia? I hear there’s a festival soon, lots of sales-“

Rokh planted the arch of his foot atop Razel’s throat, pressing him against the blades. His reply was cut short as the foot pressed harder.

“There’s the spontaneous musica-“

The word devolved into a gasp and a gurgle.

“Should I assume Itako is dead?”

Razel pulled Rokh’s foot back from his neck slightly, granting himself barely enough room to speak.

“Yes. Didn’t even mention you.”

“I should hope he didn’t. He was under express orders not to.”

Rokh leaned in closer.

“Where’s your fight, Razel? I remember you being better than this.”

The rime mage feigned confusion, croaking back a reply.

“Wait…you want me to fight back?”

Razel threw the ankle from his neck, tossing Rokh aside and wiping oil from the slow to heal wounds on his cheek. As his wits returned, he decided to try taking advantage of their previous association to draw the encounter out.

“You hit like a little girl, by the way.”

Rokh got to his feet, grinning and stepping back to take a defensive stance.

“Classic you, hiding behind witticism because you’re too afraid to admit that you’re just a lost child trying to find a place to play.”

“Ouch. Straight to the heart of the matter, huh? What do your friends think of your psychoanalysis?”

The Phyrexians remained motionless.

“They don’t care. They do as they’re told. Something you used to excel at.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Razel motioned at his foe, shadows streaking from his feet. The tainted Vulshok expressed genuine disappointment.

“At least you know that you do. I mean, seriously? This?”

Rokh reached out to the oncoming umbra and clenched his fist, a brilliant flash of light dispelling the darkness.

“I thought you liked that spell.”

“And I thought you’d have learned a new one. Would you like to see one of mine?”

An arc of energy spouted from his fist, disappearing and re-appearing just in front of Razel. The blade buried itself in his chest, flickering and fading away after a moment. Dropping to his knees, he fell forward, catching himself just before he would have met the floor. Rokh strolled over to him aimlessly, swiftly kicking him in the side.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? Found that one recently. Come on, show me what you’ve learned in the lives you’ve strung along since you left us!”

The next kick was stronger, launching the ice mage several feet. He slid a bit more along the smooth stone floor, bumping up against one of the large power conduits. Razel forced himself upright, bracing against his elbows and facing Rokh.

“I’ve learned a few things. Things like this.”

He shot the bolt of mana right into the center of the domed ceiling, the void contained by the solid rock above. The Phyrexians looked up to it, some visibly alarmed. Rokh observed with curiosity as his troops were drawn from their feet and collected into a maelstrom of flesh and steel. As the warriors condensed into a singular space, the deluge of oil and meat rained down on Rokh, whose internal flame brightened in fury and humiliation. He turned back to his prey, flinging muck as he spun. His face drooped as he recognized the broken cabling Razel held in his hand, the sparking ends calming as the portal itself started to shrink. The cable dropped as Razel disappeared, fleeing the Foundry.

Thoroughly understanding how borrowed his time was, Razel skipped the first few realms he found immediately, hopping blindly from plane to plane before seizing one at random. Salt flats stretched out of sight in each direction, an endless sea of crystalline sands unbroken save for Razel’s sudden appearance. He hurriedly drew out six concentric circles, nesting each the same distance from the previous. Six more lines were drawn crossing the rings, granting Razel a basic blueprint for his escape. Standing at the first crossing of the lines, he planeswalked to the space above it, warping from point to point midair and building a cage of scars. The general shape of a sphere began to emerge, while arcs of static power leaked from the construct as each hole destabilized the center point further.

“Sixty-six…Sixty-Seven…”

The air in the middle began to ripple, distorting the pure white beyond into a vision of rolling dunes.

“Seventy…Seventy-one…Seventy-two.”

He dropped from the top of his cage, knowing his next ‘walk would be the last he could make before his design collapsed. A thunderclap drew his eyes behind him, spotting Rokh striding through the salt. His steps left oily stains in each print he made. His approach stopped as he took in the throbbing wound in reality past his prey. Razel took the initiative and spoke first.

“I wouldn’t activate a Lock, or do much of anything volatile. At the slightest provocation this is likely to collapse into a rift.”

The Phyrexian’s eyes narrowed.

“So it was intentional. We knew you killed Karl, since he told us as much himself. A rift, though? I thought better of you. I can understand a moral disagreement. I can understand where you were coming from, even if I don’t agree. But to be so desperate that you become the very liability you spent so much time working to prevent?”

“You’re not talking me into coming back. Obviously the rifts can be healed, so don’t start with that whole ‘Liability’ Speech.”

“Do you even know how we fix them?”

Razel opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. Instead, he just shrugged. Rokh took a cautionary step towards him.

“We learned a lot about them thanks to the Dominia Anomaly. Including, as you surmised, how to repair them. It’s not very practical.”

It was Razel’s turn to narrow his eyes. The Phyrexian continued.

“The only way we have found to seal them completely is to have a planeswalker mend it with their spark. As in sacrificing it, entirely.”

A reflexive cringe of horror shook Razel as he came to terms with the information, resolving to follow through with his plan regardless.

“So you’re telling me that I can cut your numbers just by making a bunch of these?”

Rokh scowled.

“You’re sounding more and more like a danger to the multiverse. Don’t you want to know why that isn’t practical?”

“Other than the obvious?”

“When one ‘walker sacrifices their spark, they become a regular example of their species, their constituents solidifying and rebuilding a physical body. Their power leaves them. If the rift is big enough, it saps the sparks of any ‘walkers nearby, draining their powers until they are simply mortals that can ‘walk.”

“I knew the Anomaly had done that, but was it really because we tried to fix it?”

“We didn’t, we simply learned how. The situation could have been handled with significantly more finesse, but the abundance of wild walkers on Dominia makes that difficult.”

Rokh chuckled, spitting viscous black droplets into the dust.

“Look at me, explaining as if we were still partners.” He wiped oily residue from his face. “We could be.”

Razel shook his head firmly.

“Nope. I refuse. Not going back, can’t make me, etcetera etcetera.”

Rokh held up a hand, small swirls of mana encircling it. The proto-rift pulsed, causing Rokh to lower his fingers, dispelling the energy.

“You know I could kill you and take you back to be rebuilt as a composite golem, right? You don’t really have a choice.”

Razel took comfort in having the upper hand at the moment.

“I always have a choice. Regardless of what your ‘Superiors’ may tell you.”

Another chuckle.

“Oh Roz…I _am_ a Superior now.”

Razel feigned shock, mostly due to apathy with little genuine surprise.

“Really? How long ago did they bump you up?”

“Long enough that I had time to find myself. Trek home.”

“Hence the Phyrexians. Were you surprised to see your former home consumed by war?”

“You know as well as I do that our memories of where we come from are limited to what we recorded before the Academy Optimizations take them from us.”

The rime mage cocked his head, now genuinely intrigued.

“I do now.”

Rokh lit up.

“So you never…Amazing. Even now, after all this time, there are things you aren’t aware of.”

“So explain.”

“I will tell you when you have taken my eyes.”

The challenge fell flat, neither party wanting to trigger the rift, leaving the two to stare at each other as they remained in a state of forced inaction. Deciding he had had enough, Razel rolled his eyes and turned his back on the Phyrexian.

“I’ll be back for them.”

Rokh flushed with panic, reaching out to the rime mage.

“WAIT, DON-“

Rokh cut himself short as his target slipped between spaces, briefly re-appearing in the center of the scar lattice before they collapsed on themselves, the implosion continuing out the other side of the rift and fracturing the space around it. Aeons away, Razel felt the path ‘behind’ him close, lingering within the aether. The burning sensation radiating from his cheek reminded him of the infection. Reshaping himself into an amorphous cloud of essence, the foreign bodies were thrust directly into the madness between spaces. The unprotected material evaporated on contact, leaving the ‘walker cleansed of Oil. Razel bobbed in the aether for an indeterminate period of time, debating how he should take care of the situation. The possibilities, no matter the path, were unpleasant. A confrontation with Rokh was inevitable, and his conscience would not allow him to stand idly by as the Phyrexians staged another interplanar invasion.

The circumstances were dire. Lesser mages would simply flee, leaving the multiverse to fend off Phyrexia on its own. Weaker ‘walkers would flee, not wanting to be involved with the Academy. Razel was uniquely positioned between an unfortunate alliance of the two, something he was rather sure even greater mages would hesitate before engaging. The planeswalker, for the first time in a long time, felt entirely in over his head. And yet, he was the only one who could do something about it.

Resigning himself to recover and request help, Razel fled to his retreat.


	25. [IK06] – Flailing Madly

The sewer smells exactly like the worst possible thing you can think of. Grime and sludge are pressed into every crack and corner, lichens devouring the stone roof. An overwhelming sense of recycled vitality makes the place perfect for Golgari ideals. You contemplate the gardener as you plod towards what you hope is his home, a path finally feeling your feet after what felt like days of travel. You barely recall your ‘visit’ and your renewed sense of purpose, while the name they had called you bounces around your mind, vainly seeking something to corroborate. It finds nothing but dead ends and broken connections.

_My name is Korr. Inquisitor Korr._

Countless images of evaluations, debriefings, and complete strangers verify this evident fact. A vague emptiness leaves you contemplating the night you were saved by that old man. The tenement was appreciated, but why wouldn’t he take you to your own home?

You wonder where your home is. You get the distinct impression that the statue from your dreams is tied to it somehow. The same statue that predicted the gardener’s turn of phrase.

_Why would a statue speak to me?_

You feel a sudden presence in the general direction of your goal. It is faint, but feels familiar. It serves only to spur you further, promising even more answers.

_But what do I ask?_

Your mind offers a cascade of options. Who is Razel? How do you know him? What does he have to do with me? Why did you mistake me for him? Why is my memory-?

Your train of thought derails. An epiphany illuminates you.

_The old man!_

Of course! The old man who ‘saved’ you. The old man that lied to you. The old man that disappeared from the hallway.

_He must be involved._

Your focus shifts to the recollection of that night. You run the entire event through your head, sifting for something that could help. The day is nonexistent before you woke up on the floor with the old man craning over you. You remember a fierce pain in your head. You recall him calling to you, and brushing dew from the back of your head.

_Dew…?_

He left rather quickly. Somehow he passed the object in your hall without noticing it.

_Unless he made it._

But how? For that matter, what was the thing? Did it consume him?

You begin to suspect that none of what he told you was true to any degree. You file away a mental note to inquire with the residential administrator as to the circumstances surrounding your new tenement. The old man may not have lied about your incurred debt, but the reasoning was certainly under question.

A splash in the tributary snaps you out of your trance. A gator stares back at you, the corpse of a large rat floating on either side of the jaw that has claimed it. With another splash it disappears beneath the water, taking its prize with it. Ripples spread through the stagnant stream.

You resume your hike, comparing the ripples to your own circumstance. It seems that once you awoke, things went downhill. Every attempt to solve your problem has only failed and raised more questions. Two different individuals, both quite skilled at their craft, failed to fix it. In fact, the second one flat out told you it wasn’t possible.

_Liar._

You aren’t sure that you agree with your own opinion. He held no reason to lie to you, as anything he wished you to forget he could have simply removed after the fact. You’re not even sure he didn’t do exactly that. Your confidence in your own recollection is practically non-existent. You try to deny it, but with no faith in your own mind you can’t say for certain that you know anything.

_Can’t go down that path._

You’re right, of course. The only hope you have for resolution relies on maintaining your composure. Like it or not, you must place faith in your own memories, or at least what is left of them. You flash to your nights with Myra, the image of her look of concern calming you somewhat.

_It’s good to know that there are some people that seem to care._

The Pontiff seemed to care. You can’t bring yourself to refer to him by name, though. Too long had he simply been ‘Your grace’ or ‘Sir’. He had taken you in from the streets, sending you on your first assignments and indebting you to the Obzedat.

His commentary regarding your plight was vague. He should have been your first clue that the old man had lied to you. The Pontiff made a habit of keeping abreast of recent events, and if he hadn’t heard of the festival, it hadn’t happened. This should have been obvious to you, but your compromised state stopped you from seeing it.

You wonder what other things you might have missed these past few days. Somehow, even with the failure at the bar, you managed to catch on to Myra’s hinting. Was it because you had shut yourself down? Was it a longing for companionship? Or was it something else? Something you had denied for years, but inevitably couldn’t refuse?

_How has the loneliness not affected me before now?_

Aside from your associates within the guild, you can’t recall any sort of social interaction outside of your duties. To complicate the issue, you can’t remember anything outside of your duties…at all. It’s as if you only exist as the Inquisitor, with no life beyond it. You try to remember anything that can dispel the thought, but nothing comes to mind. The quest to restore your mental state was the only non-business you had ever conducted that you can recall. You know you aren’t on duty full-time, so the gaping holes in your own timeline are worrisome, adding to your already considerable plate of complications.

You see ahead a skeleton pinned to the wall by a sword driven through its chest and into the wall. You stop in front of it, looking the bones over. The skull fascinates you. Echoes of an empty memory throb within you, and you reach out to run your fingers across the teeth. You look the unfortunate soul eye-to-eye. You once again remember the old man, and how he stood precisely your height.

_Conspicuous._

You aren’t exactly a short individual, and you can’t recall too many members of your guild that can stand at your level. Yet another sign you missed. This old man seems to be at the core of everything happening to you. All of your thoughts return to him and his falsehood. An idea begins to form.

_The old man…did this?_

Your brain throbs forcibly against your skull when you recall the pain of waking on the floor. The dew you wiped from the back of your head. It would make sense. It explains perfectly why he needed to lie to you, as well as giving him a reason to flee.

_But why? Why me? What did I get involved in?_

You doubt you would be able to remember if you tried. If you had done something to offend the old man, he probably would have removed that as well as the rest of your missing memories. You feel as though everyone else is better informed on what is happening to you than you are. You feel confident it isn’t some grand conspiracy between the Pontiff, the Excisor, Myra, the old man, and the Gardener.

The old man and the Gardener…

_Razel…_

Your thoughts kick into overdrive as you wonder something that could threaten to illuminate the shadows of your mind.

_The old man…is Razel?_

A lightning chain of possibilities connect in a flash, stringing your logic along with it. If the old man is Razel, then that means that the Gardener knows him. The Gardener mistook you for him, which would make sense – from behind, he may only have seen an Orzhov agent of similar size.

_Except…he saw my face. He looked right at me and kept going, unaware that I wasn’t Razel._

How would you explain your dream, then? How can you hear a name in the ether before you are addressed by it in the material? Stranger things happened to you on a regular basis, but prophecy was something you can’t recall having exhibited before now. Another possibility comes to you.

_Is the dream…not a dream? Is the statue just an avatar?_

An avatar of what, though? And if it referred to you as Razel, it also had obvious relation to him. Your idea that the statue was involved with your home only muddled you further. You now find parallels to Razel and your nebulous ‘home’. Each revelation reinforced the importance of that name. Somehow, it was tied to you in a way you couldn’t fathom.

_…am I Razel?_

Dipping back into a mistrust of your own mind, you humor the thought. What if you are Razel? This still leaves the question of why those who referred to you by it would then stop, suddenly. The statue did it, simply stopping and leaving your mind. The Gardener did it, albeit after implying…that…

For the first time in the past week, you know something with certainty.

_I…am Razel._

It sounds right. It feels right. It neatly fills a void in your mind, like a piece of a puzzle dropped into place. Your name, in full, is Razel Korr. The initial burst of joy at your revelation fades as you follow to the next logical conclusion.

_If I am Razel, who is the old man?_

You again think on the Gardener’s words. He said something…something about…

_“I didn’t expect you to actually go through with THAT part of the suggestion.”_

Suggestion? What suggestion?

_“I mistook you for someone else.”_

He didn’t want you to know. Tried to hand wave it away. The conspiracy bubbles back up, now tied between the old man, the Gardener…and yourself. Did you request that your memories be tampered with? Did you find something so terrible that you had to force yourself to forget?

_Why remove so much else, then?_

Despite your gains in knowledge, the theme of answers spawning questions continues. You have answered one very important question and in doing so, raised a thousand more. Frustration threatens to tear you apart, instead escaping through a bellow into the sewers. You vent your displeasure loudly, kicking any debris at your feet as you throw your tantrum. After a moment you stop, breathing heavily and glaring down the tunnel. Grumbling to yourself, you continue on.

You begin to wonder what will happen when you locate the Gardener. Obviously you will do what you do best – Inquire. The questions that clutter your mind are disorganized, but you feel you will know what to ask and when to ask it. Your instincts, more often than not, serve you well.

_Except for whatever initiated this whole affair._

The adrenaline begins to flow, making you tremble slightly as you contemplate the confrontation. Will it devolve to violence? You hope not. There is no reason for it, unless…there is a reason for it. Which you can’t be sure of, since you are still unaware of why this has happened. This line of thought serves only to make you more anxious, bringing more severe tremors. You shake like a cold, wet animal. You spy the grating at the end of the tunnel, along with the alcove beside it containing an ancient door. You lean against the wall, breathing deeply and trying to calm your nerves. Once you have brought yourself under a semblance of control, you approach the residence.

A pair of voices are loudly conversing within. Their muffled speech prevents you from making out individual words, but you recognize one of the voices as belonging to the Gardener. The other voice sounds as though you should know it well. They are lightheartedly bantering, even if it seems like his guest isn’t exactly happy with him. The tremors return, albeit subdued this time. You breathe deep, stopping just in front of the door and raising your hand and rapping three times. The speech stops, with only a quiet something from the guest followed by footsteps. You hold your breath as they slow to a stop, the handles creaking as the door is slowly pried open.


	26. Death Wish

The statue held its silent vigil over the Planeswalker’s retreat, a sole witness to Razel exiting his home and traversing the bridge over the void. He ascended the steps, kneeling before his patron in supplication.

“Great Myojin, I implore you. Your acolyte has, regrettably, found himself in a situation he cannot solve on his own. I request an audience at your earliest conven-“

**_I am here, Razel._ **

He looked to the mask, watching as the realm around him was consumed by shadow. The statue gradually became animate, its robe billowing against the mass of arms. The fabric hung from the far ends of its headpiece flapped despite the lack of wind. The Myojin’s mask glided to the same level as Razel, hovering at arm’s length.

“That was faster than you usually respond. I hope I did not interrupt anything.”

**_To think, I could say the same to you._ **

Razel cocked his head, realization spreading through his features. He lowered his gaze apologetically.

“My sincerest of apologies, O Night. I have failed to provide you with my report on the festival.”

Night’s response was tainted with amusement.

**_Which I assume was a success, as it always is._ **

“Yes, well…it sort of started this whole mess.”

**_Do tell._ **

Razel hesitated, rubbing the back of his head before continuing on.

“I have told you of the Academy, yes?”

**_I am aware of them._ **

“Well, one of them found me. They caught my trail because of your request. I am not blaming you or complaining, merely specifying. After enough repeat activity, they dispatched an investigator, who verified it was me. I was confronted by him, and while I killed him, I made the mistake of indulging my curiosity.”

**_My favorite of your varied flaws._ **

Razel frowned, continuing.

“I found that the situation was worse than simply my freedom being threatened. I tracked the agent back to a plane he referred to as ‘Foundry’, which is where my problem resides.”

**_So what do you require my help with?_ **

Razel hesitated, unsure of how to word his request.

“There are two threats on Foundry right now. First, my personal plight – the Academy wishes me dead. Because I have eluded them for so long, I have become a priority target. It is to the point that my old mentor, now one of the administrative leaders of the Academy, took a personal interest in the case. Not only is Rokh there, but he has also allied himself with the Phyrexians. They are staging another interplanar Invasion. Unfortunately, they have already begun to pump their poisons into the atmosphere. Given enough time, there will be another Phyrexia. And another. The only way to prevent that is to decimate the plane, which will also take care of my mentor, thus solving two issues in a single stroke. This is where you come in. How can I best follow through with my plan?”

The realm of darkness was silent. Used to his Patron’s mannerisms, Razel waited patiently for her reply. After a long pause, she spoke again.

**_Before I offer my opinion, answer me this: Why are there two of you?_ **

Razel flushed, having completely forgotten about his double. Embarrassment was not something the planeswalker felt often. He stuttered for a moment as he realized he had never explained the spell to the Myojin.

“OH. That. Uh…well, there _are_ two of me. Sort of. After the festival, I needed a break from my day job as an Inquisitor. So, to that end, I created a duplicate of myself to watch over my affairs on Ravnica while I was away. How, if you don’t mind the inquiry, did you discern that it wasn’t me?”

**_Ignoring the fact that he did not recognize me, his aura is different from yours. Where yours burns brightly, his is clouded and busy. Where he shimmers, you shine._ **

Razel mulled the response over, already attempting to improve his spell.

“Well…that would make sense. The Aught is an imperfect copy anyway, even if it is remarkably similar. It doesn’t have a Spark, It remembers nothing outside of Ravnica, and it is mentally unstable over longer time periods. Considering the circumstances, I may need to reabsorb him so I can reclaim the power expended in his creation.”

**_That is my first suggestion._ **

Razel cocked his head in curiosity.

“First?”

**_Let it never be said that I am not willing to help._ **

The darkness began to recede, while the statue slowly returned to its former state of inactivity. The shadows collected into a small cloud above the violet flame, collapsing into a felt top hat. It floated forward, falling to the floor before rolling to Razel and bumping into his foot. He bent over to pick it up, inspecting the fine quality. A label on the inside of the band verified the maker, the flowing signature reading ‘ _Alces Alces_ ’. He grinned wickedly.

“That will work.”

Looking around at his retreat, Razel wondered when he would return. With the first part of his plan enacted, he returned to Ravnica, materializing within Garrus’ chambers. The Gardener jumped, dropping a pair of shears and cursing loudly.

“Why do you never warn me before you do that?”

Razel put the hat on his head, addressing his friend.

“Warn you? Where’s the fun in that?”

Garrus retrieved his shears, dusting them off and returning to his saprolings.

“What can I help you with, Razel?”

The planeswalker strode over to him, leaning against the wall.

“You were right and you were wrong.”

Snip, snip.

“Explain.”

“Well, you were right about needing to take a break. Not going to deny that. However, you were wrong about me being wrong.”

Snip...

Garrus furrowed his brow, looking to Razel in confusion.

“What?”

The ‘walker smiled, shaking his head.

“It _was_ the Academy. They found me.”

Garrus thought for a minute. He shrugged, turning to face his plants.

“Well, obviously you’re alright, so it can’t have been too bad.”

“Rokh was there.”

Garrus paused.

“The same one you told me about? The one that trained you in that whole manhunting thing?”

Razel nodded.

“Yeah. The same. To top it off, he’s decided it would be a great idea to join the Phyrexians.”

“If I had known there’d be a test, I’d have listened better the first time you told me about these things. Those are the oil creatures, right? The ones you can’t touch?”

“Right. They’re spreading and I think they’re staging an interplanar invasion.”

“Do they even have the manpower for something like that?”

“Funny thing about Phyrexians - next to none of them are pure. They repurpose the populace of any place they encounter, turning them into more Phyrexians. They call it ‘Making them Compleat’.”

“Efficient. Awful, but efficient.”

“Yeah. So since I don’t really want to see the multiverse, let alone this lovely city, turned to a festering cesspit of undeath and abomination…I decided I should stop them.”

“Alone?”

Razel shoved away from the wall, walking to the middle of the room and staring out the grate in the far corner.

“Not quite. I have my hat.”

Garrus cocked an eyebrow, inspecting the accessory at a distance.

“Is that Alcesian?”

“It is. A gift from my Patron to help with the situation.”

“How will a top hat help you stop an invasion? Even one as…fabulous…as that?”

“I’ll tell you if I live long enough to give it a try.”

The Gardener shook his head. A distant yell echoed outside the room, carried through the compact caverns. Razel looked to the door in alarm, while Garrus simply waved his hand in the general direction.

“That happens from time to time. Folks get lost, wind up meeting the gators. Nothing to be worried about.”

The ‘walker looked back to the grate, visualizing the city beyond. He sighed heavily.

“I took your advice, you know.”

Garrus was unphased.

“I know.”

It was Razel’s turn to furrow his brow and look to his companion in confusion.

“I didn’t tell you. How do you...?”

“I ran into the Inquisitor earlier. Mistook him for you initially, but explained it as a mistake.”

Silence settled between them, leaving an awkward beat between the comment and its response. Razel’s tone became serious.

“What did you say to it?”

“I said I had mistaken him for someone else, and then apologized and went on my way.”

“Did you say anything else? Refer to him by name?”

The Golgari put his shears down, facing Razel and thinking back.

“I might have referred to him with your name, but he didn’t recognize it.”

The temperature in the room began to drop with Razel’s mood.

“You called him by name?”

“Yes. I said I was sorry he had not taken my advice, not realizing that he was the result.”

“Which name?”

Garrus began to look slightly uncomfortable.

“Why?”

Razel noted the fogging of the Gardener’s breath, taking another breath to calm himself.

“I removed all of its memories regarding anything outside of Ravnica, including my first name. I make a point to only give that out to specific people. If someone were to try and reference those memories, there is a possibility it could start to devolve. Go rampant. That would make it much harder to reabsorb it.”

“Oh. Uh...”

“So which name did you use?”

The Golgari wrung his hands, looking about.

“See, funny thing...”

“GARRUS.”

“Yes, I called him Razel!”

The planeswalker buried his face in his hands.

“Gob moggit, Garrus.”

“How was I supposed to know?! You didn’t tell me any of this. How irresponsible do you have to be to let loose a damaged copy of YOU, of all people?! Unsupervised? On _Ravnica_?”

“W-What are you saying exactly?”

“I’m saying you need to accept that you made a mistake and rushed through this. Don’t get mad at me for not knowing something you never told me.”

Razel glared, softening his gaze and finally caving.

“Alright, you’re right. I...I was in a hurry. I may have cut some corners that shouldn’t have been cut.”

“You think so?”

The planeswalker’s gaze dropped.

“Anyway. Where did you see it last? I need to get this going.”

Garrus shrugged.

“We were on the surface, just in sight of the Basilica. Probably across from...Derrin’s, I think?”

The ‘walker rolled his eyes, remembering his contract evaluation days before. The proximity to the Pawn shop, coupled with the resurfacing of its name, more than likely meant that things had already started to decline.

“Brilliant. There’s no telling where it could be right now.”

Garrus’ confusion was clear on his face.

“You have no way of tracking him?”

Again, Razel rolled his eyes.

“Alright. I get it. I should have thought this through. I was a little panicked at the time, okay?”

“Calm yourself, Razel. I was just asking.”

The ‘walker rubbed his temples.

“I’m sorry. I suppose I could request its services through the Church. That would get it to me.”

“Unless this ‘rampancy’ has already happened.”

“In which case it could be anywhere. The only ones who could find it now are the Dimir, and I don’t want to let them know about my true nature.”

“You’re assuming they don’t already.”

He nodded.

“True. I suppose I should start with the Basilica, and then head to Bane Alley. That’ll be my best bet.”

Garrus placed his hand on his chin.

“So what, exactly, happens with this ‘rampancy’?”

Razel gestured as he explained.

“When I follow the process, I separate a portion of myself and fill it with a copy of my mind. That becomes the Aught itself. If I leave it alone, it will have all the memories and such that I do.”

Garrus indicated his agreement.

“Right. You’ve explained that much before.”

“Well, when it realizes what it is, it has a habit of becoming damaged. The mind can’t handle not being itself, and begins to develop its own unique aspects. Not always in a beneficial way. For that reason, I removed any knowledge of things outside of Ravnica.”

“You also have already explained this. Wouldn’t that just give you more experience when you reabsorb it? Why would that be a problem?”

_Knock, knock, knock._

The both of them share a look of confusion, Razel walking over to the door to pry it open slowly.


	27. [IK07] – Run, Coward

The door opens, revealing the face behind it. Oddly enough, it looks exactly like _your_ face. It is dressed in something which looks outrageously appealing to you, yet completely foreign. The strange outfit is superficially similar to yours, but built differently. The two of you share blank expressions. You certainly weren’t expecting this.

You run. You don’t take any time to contemplate, dashing back into the catacombs. Faintly you hear the replica saying something to who you assume is the Gardener, but you aren’t able to make out the words. Your focus is on the path ahead of you. The moss is slipperier than you like, and you drift around the first couple corners. Tunnel after tunnel, grate after grate. Rats squeak as you dash past. The Skeleton is still pinned to the wall, a situation you remedy quickly by snagging the blade as you run by. You toss it aside carelessly, hoping to slow your pursuer with the corpse. Instead, you hear what sounds remarkably like your own voice calling to you over the clatter of the bones.

“Where are you going, Inquisitor?!”

You look about the causeway, turning left and leaping over the water.

“Anywhere but here!”

You propel yourself into the access tunnel across the way, leaping onto the ladder and climbing as you’ve never climbed before. Once the tunnel encloses you, you look up, verifying that the walls are smooth. You put your back against the wall, running up the ladder as though it were a vertical stairwell. The movement frays your robe, but you care not at all. The clang of your pursuer reaching the rungs echoes up to you, distracting you as you erupt into the service tunnel above. You clumsily roll to your feet, dashing into the darkness. The faint images you can make out are lit by the residual torchlight from the level below, now blocked by the copy chasing you. You turn to see its eyes crest over the lip of the well, harsh light framing it in spikes of illuminated dust.

You once again curse not being able to see through shadows. You force your frustration through your fingertips, the sparks of mana igniting your hand and illuminating your path. A pair of well worn tracks run the length of the tunnel, shining in your light. They are sturdy, but no longer used within the ancient industrial center. You pad down the hall, vaulting onto a loading platform. The dust clouds around you as you take off again. The hallway is rugged and functional, with framed pictures of ‘local’ events hidden behind the thin gray fuzz of ancient dust and grime. More light shines from further on, spurring you to ascend the large stairwell ahead of you and into the upper platforms.

The open area is devoid of life, several empty maintenance carts strewn about the tracks. The shoddy ramp built to the level above has no railing, not that you slow enough to notice or care. You kick chunks of soil and mortar into the air as you dig into it, hurtling up and out, emerging in the Undercity itself. Large columns break up the landscape, supporting the vast mega structures above. The street level is pitted with gutters and waterways, one of which is cutting straight through the base of the nearest column. You sprint blindly into it, waving the magical flames off of your hand to sputter out on the floor. Another ladder appears to ascend the entirety of the column, prompting your egress once more to follow the rungs. The tunnel stretches out above you, darkness swallowing any end that may have been visible.

With nothing else to do while you flee, you think. You think about how this is almost precisely the last thing you were expecting. Someone mistaking you for Razel is obvious, now. You two are identical.

_Except he probably still has his memories._

You widen your eyes as you wonder if Razel isn’t the one who took your memories…if only so that he could become you. Secretly inserting himself within your life for nefarious purposes.

_Ludicrous._

No more ludicrous than being chased by your mirror image. Your hands begin to throb as you continue to tear your way up the ladder. Your subconscious wishes it could fly, somehow sad that it was unable to levitate the rest of the way.

_Why do I have so many unrealistic expectations?!_

You slam your head angrily against the wall, stars momentarily bursting into your vision. A faint light shines further up, barely visible after your trek thus far. It grows in intensity, crawling closer and closer until you vault out of it, rolling into a wall and scrambling to your feet. You turn the corner and exit the doorway, stepping into the alleyway. Stars sparkle above, letting you know you’ve reached the surface. Eying the crowded street to your left, you turn to run further into the alley, instead facing your doppelgänger once again. His fingers are bridged, suggesting an impatience that terrifies you. He speaks to you as you might a petulant child.

“Took you long enough.”

You scream unintelligibly at him before taking off once more.

“I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!”

_Ignore him. Don’t acknowledge. Keep running._

You ungraciously shove the few pedestrians that have stopped to look out of the way, barreling into the street. Women yelp and men fall over as you force your way past. The crowd lightens slightly as the thoroughfare begins to include more wagons and transports, forcing you to bob and weave between the vendors moving their wares. A large fountain, possibly the same from the nights prior, surprises you as it appears behind the parting crowd of patrons. You catch it violently in the shins, toppling into the water. Your splashing about is loud, but fast, and you roll out of the basin and back to your feet. The water drips from you as you tear off, leaving a spotty trail.

A familiar, rippling face looks at you in confusion as you approach. The two thrull servants chained to their master hop out of your way as you tear past. The Pontiff furrows his brow as you speed by.

“Your Grace.”

“Inquisitor…?”

A by standing Boros Patrol spots you, sighting your pursuer as well. With a loud drawing of their blades, they watch the two of you approach.

“HEY! STOP! YOU TWO!”

You hear the clattering of their armor as they come after you, rushing into a crowded historical district in the throes of a market night. A Wagon pulls out noisily in front of you, the rear wheel wobbling unnervingly and threatening to tear off at the axle. Without thinking, you dive underneath the cart, sliding along fabric already worn down and tearing a large hole in your robe. You shove yourself up and continue running, most folks stepping to either side to give you room to pass. A loud clattering and crashing suggests the fate of the wagon, but you can’t spare the time to look back.

You search frantically for some means of escape. A tall spire farther on hints at a district further up and in, just behind this row of buildings. A large open door calls to you, urging you into the dimly lit lobby. The old room is set up as a museum to local achievements, and includes a model of a proposed structure for the shopping district. You try not to crash into it as you slam into the far wall, running up the spiral staircase. Each floor you pass offers glimpses at very confused citizens, none of whom seem to care enough to do anything. Eighteen floors up and the stairs stop, spitting you onto a roof. Your assumption had been correct, as you see the terraced walkway behind the museum. You jump blindly off of the roof, landing in the fabric overhang below. The cloth buckles under your weight, tearing partially and trapping you within it. You flail about madly, shredding it and forcing your freedom. You drop the remaining few feet to the floor. Night lamps illuminate the empty park around you. A maintenance building looms over a nearby hill.

Your feet clap loudly against the stone as you streak over to an embankment, stepping into the grass. A series of pylons hold up a walkway out of your reach, which you note heads directly into the maintenance sector. You remember briefly a spell that could be of use. With a hope and prayer, you jump, loosing a pulse of explosive energies beneath you. The shock wave launches your body head over heels, careening you into a wall unmercifully. You fall to your face, nonetheless now finding yourself on the walkway. Another scramble and you find yourself tripping over something, probably your own feet, before falling down a few short steps and slamming roughly into the walls. You hear a rustling outside the hall. You maneuver yourself upright and backing into the corner. The steps come slowly and methodically, clicking against the stone. You hold your breath, keeping still and hoping the creature of your fears will pass you by. Instead, you see it stand ominously in the doorway, shadowed by the ambient backlighting. It speaks irritably.

“I seriously don’t have time for this.”

Your breath comes in ragged gulps as your eyes adjust, and you make out the details of his face more clearly. He is definitely you. Or are you him? His arms are crossed, as if you were the inconvenience. In the end, you suppose it doesn’t matter. You scream defiantly at him.

“GO DIE IN A FIRE!”

He seems amused by this.

“That’s been tried. Didn’t work. Why do all my doubles scream at me, I wonder?”

 _His_ doubles?

“What are you talking about?! Why do you want to kill me?!”

“And why do they always think I’m out to kill them?”

He is speaking words you understand, but their meaning is still lost on you. You force a reply, hoping it comes out right.

“Maybe if you’d stop running me down I wouldn’t think you mean to end me.”

“Oh, I do mean to end you, but I don’t mean to kill you. You seem to have a funny concept of death.”

His speech hurts your brain. Everything hurts your brain. Thinking is painful. Your pulse quickens as you shake, defiantly staring down your judgment. The past several days replay through your head once more, this time with a tone of resignation. You see your actions as an observer instead of an actor, no longer seeking answers but rather seeking the respite from your situation. You lash out magically, overwhelmed emotion fueling a wave of power to erupt from you. The energy presses your assailant back several feet, yet fails to inconvenience him elsewise.

“Tenacious. Too bad you can’t stop something with its own power.”

You hurl bolt after fireball after blade after arc, none of which do anything except merge harmlessly with the body they are thrown at. It swings its arm to the side, propelling you with its mind further down the hall and into another wall. Your crash echoes down the path. He continues down to you, lecturing as he comes.

“Your purpose has run its course, Inquisitor. You are a tool. My tool. I put you on your mission and you performed it admirably, I will assume. Regardless…it is time.”

You watch as he disappears, re-appearing immediately in front of you. His proximity is startling. The pain is secondary. His fingers are knuckle-deep in your chest, which you verify with a glance down. The glowing blue fissures creeping from his fingers seem to alarm his as much as they alarm you. He pulls his hand back, splattering a frozen slush on the floor. He steps back, an unearthly blue glow filling the hall. You feel the wound in your chest burn and curl into a ball, collapsing on the floor. Before you hit the ground, you pass out, the world around you turning to black.


	28. Chasing Tails

Razel pulled the door open, prepared to turn back whoever was interrupting them.

He was not prepared to see himself standing in the doorway, looking just as confused. After a long moment, the double turned and ran, taking off into the tunnels. Razel sighed heavily, turning to speak his farewell.

“That is why. I may or may not return.”

Razel tore after his duplicate, leaving Garrus to shrug and return to his saprolings. The tunnels were dank and pungent, lined with moss and slime. The waterways that cut down the middle of each tunnel fed the growths, while doubling as an environment for various undercity monstrosities. Razel spied the double taking a turn, speeding after it and making sure to keep pace. The moss in the tunnels was likely of Golgari origin, which meant that it was secretly observing everything. Knowing this, Razel kept his pursuit to a mortal pace, not wanting to arouse undue suspicion. The double tore a sword out of a passing skeleton’s chest, causing the bones to clatter into Razel’s path. He effortlessly raised his legs, simply gliding over the mess and resuming his pursuit uninterrupted. Amused by his duplicate’s feeble attempts at flight, he taunted it.

“Where are you going, Inquisitor?!”

The double looked around itself hurriedly, opting for the ladder up. It responded mid-leap over the tributary.

“Anywhere but here!”

It shot up the ladder, Razel in close pursuit. The ‘walker propelled himself across the water, landing directly on the ladder opposite with a resonant clang. The sight of the double running up the rungs urged him on, watching as it left the access way to flee down whatever path awaits. Razel sped up to the end of the climb, easing his head over the edge and spying the Inquisitor running along a set of ancient tracks in the darkness. A wave of power rippled down its arm and burst out of its fingers, igniting the entire hand in magical flame and casting a brilliant glow. Razel smiled, the ingenuity instilling a sense of narcissistic pride. The planeswalker’s footsteps never truly hit the ground, instead propelling him on before he reached the floor astride a cushioning blade of mental effort.

The double leaped onto a nearby platform, vaulting the edge and continuing down the hallway beyond. Razel bounded over the edge of the platform, landing in a crouch on the far wall before launching himself down the path after his duplicate. The portraits that flew by were caked in a thick layer of dust and muck, their images long since forgotten. Their path climbed the stairwell at the end of the hallway, spitting them out into an industrial terminal. Unused carts and derelict projects decayed quietly, while a shoddy ramp was built along the far wall to allow access up and out of the terminal. The double sped up the ramp, kicking up chunks of debris while his pursuer merely glided his way along the dirt and mortar.

The opening gave way to the undercity itself, a vast series of artificial caverns hidden by the crust of the metropolis overhead. Great support columns held the underside of the city high above, breaking up the otherwise expansive labyrinth. The closest of the columns was pierced at the base by another sewage tributary, with another ladder visible just inside. The double sprinted over to it, disappearing once more up a series of rungs.

Razel came to a stop, looking for witnesses. Comfortable in his relative solitude, he muttered the primary verbal component of his flight spell.

“Yu Mo Gui Gwui Fai Di Zao, Yu Mo Gui Gwui Fai Di Zao…”

The chant dissipated a nearby trash heap, piled taller than the walls containing it. The mess covered the floor, while Razel calmly walked to the center of it and looked directly up. As he chanted, the planeswalker lifted off of the ground, floating higher and higher. The column scrolled past him, the intricate foundations of the city growing clearer and clearer as he approached the access chute above. Once his gaze was even with the horizon of structure, it engulfed him, the patchwork tunnel never meant to be seen. It curved slightly further up, letting the mage out in a back alley, just beside an access path to what Razel assumed was the same ladder from below.

He bridged his fingers in impatient anticipation, a loud ‘gong’ from the doorway precluding the increasing tempo of footfalls on steel. The pattering of feet gave way to the double, crashing out of the hall and looking to the street before turning to run further into the alley. The duplicate skidded to a halt as he was confronted with his original.

“Took you long enough.”

The Inquisitor screamed unintelligibly, venting anxiety and calling the attention of several pedestrians, who leaned in to watch. With no warning, the double broke into a run once more. Razel cried out in frustration.

“I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!”

The passerby cried out in alarm as they were shoved unceremoniously out of the way, their eyes wide as the mage sped past. The visibility of the situation was uncomfortable to Razel. A bevy of witnesses now held knowledge of him chasing…himself. Something he may be able to pass off as a Dimir machination, but only if he refrained from breaking ‘character’. With teleportation and levitation out of the question, the pursuit continued on foot. The crowd was thick, folks falling over as the pair forced their way through. The density of the people began to thin while the traffic gradually changed to carts and wagons, prompting them both to maneuver awkwardly between the vendors and their wares.

The crowd parted abruptly, surprising the duplicate and sending him face first into the fountain in front of him. Wasting no time, he flopped to his feet, rolling out of the water and back on his way. Razel again pulled his knees to his chest, gliding effortlessly over the obstruction before him. The trail of water droplets stained the stone, leaving no ambiguity as to the double’s path.

The Pontiff, out for a night of relaxation, was surprised to see Inquisitor Korr barreling towards him. The thrull servants merped in confusion, leaping out of the way as the double came. The greeting was nearly shouted as he ran on.

“Your Grace!”

“Inquisitor…?”

The rippling man looked to the commotion following, seeing to his surprise none other than the Inquisitor, albeit in a significantly different attire. The Pontiff frowned at his associate, who offered another greeting.

“Your Grace!”

“Inquisitor…”

The thrull to his left cocked its head confusedly, while the one to his right picked at something in one of its orifices. Deciding not to press the issue, and recognizing a Dimir tactic of replacing problematic individuals, the Pontiff made the wise decision to forget about what he saw and continue with his night.

The noise drew the attention of a passing Boros Patrol, the two armored peacekeepers drawing their blades before gesturing to clear a path.

“HEY! STOP! YOU TWO!”

Their armor caused a cacophony of steel as they gave chase. The closest swung pointlessly at Razel’s back, his blade barely out of reach. The planeswalker jerked away, keeping his eye on his quarry. A large wagon pulled in front of the duplicate, its rear axle creaking pitifully. Without hesitation, the Inquisitor dove underneath it, sliding along the ground. Razel again felt a sting of narcissistic pride, choosing instead to shove the wagon forcibly out of the way as he drew near. The rough treatment proved too much for the axle, which snapped clean through. The wagon tipped, spilling fruit and trinkets into the street, tripping the Boros agents. The man driving the wagon stepped down to complain loudly, the string of large beads around his neck glinting in the gaslight.

The Inquisitor ducked into an open doorway, weaving through the museum, ignoring the patrons and ascending the stairwell at the back. Razel followed shortly thereafter, muttering apologies to those he passed on the way. The mage stopped briefly at each floor, the occupants always shaking their heads and gesturing up, indicating that he hadn’t come their way. On the eighteenth floor, the door opened to the roof. A large park spread behind the museum, while an ominous maintenance building loomed over the retreat from on top of a hill. Running to the edge, Razel saw his double struggling to free himself from a canopy below, succeeding, and running off toward the maintenance entrance. The planeswalker stepped off of the edge of the roof, landing briskly on his feet. He watched from afar in curiosity as the double grabbed its own wrist, jumping up and loosing an explosive flare beneath itself. The explosion launched it comically into the air, slamming the Inquisitor into a wall while still getting him up and onto the pathway above. The duplicate scrambled to its feet, tripped, and disappeared down a stairway.

Already at his wit’s end, and fairly certain he would not be able to return to the Orzhov for a long while yet, Razel gave up any semblance of secrecy and leapt with a glide to the walkway, stepping directly into his stride as he purposefully approached the doorway. The ‘walker stopped just inside, blocking most of the light behind him. Razel spoke with irritation in his voice, both for the forced ending of his life on Ravnica as well as the delay in solving his issues.

“I seriously don’t have time for this.”

The double panted heavily in exhaustion.

“GO DIE IN A FIRE!”

Razel smirked at the memory of an occasion where a township had attempted to burn him at the stake. The familiarity of the situation instilled a certain semblance of déjà-vu. He responded blithely.

“That’s been tried. Didn’t work.”

His overconfidence was practically tangible.

“Why do all my doubles scream at me, I wonder?”

The duplicate showed no sign of comprehension, its mental state already compromised.

“What are you talking about?! Why do you want to kill me?!”

More déjà-vu.

“And why do they always think I’m out to kill them?”

As if compelled to answer, the duplicate forced a response, sounding unsure of its own verbal composition.

“Maybe if you’d stop running me down I wouldn’t think you mean to end me.”

Razel raised a pair of fingers to his lips, responding in kind.

“Oh, I do mean to end you, but I don’t mean to kill you. You seem to have a funny concept of death.”

The double winced, unable to make sense of what was happening. His cringe turned to anger as he pulled forth a well of mana, lashing out magically. A wave of power erupted from the Inquisitor, pressing Razel back several feet. The energies dissipated as they touched the planeswalker, reabsorbing into his constituency.

“Tenacious. Too bad you can’t stop something with its own power.”

Another bolt of power shot into him, followed by a compacted fireball, a compressed blade of energy, and an arc of plasma. Each in turn simply melded with Razel, not harming him at all. Fed up with the attempt at resistance, Razel cast his hand aside, mentally tossing his duplicate further down the hall. He stepped coldly and cruelly towards the double, lecturing as he went.

“Your purpose has run its course, Inquisitor. You are a tool. My tool. I put you on your mission and you performed it admirably, I will assume. Regardless…it is time.”

The planeswalker warped himself to the duplicate, burying his fingers knuckle deep in its chest. The expression of confusion spread to Razel as he looked down, noting the luminous blue fissures spreading from the wounds. Unsure of the circumstances, he worriedly pulled back, watching as the glow intensified, consuming the double whole. With a loud ‘crack’ and a familiar pull, the double was gone, leaving in its place only a lingering sense of cold and a thoroughly disturbed planeswalker. Razel gawked in disbelief at the empty space. The scar in the multiverse hung gingerly where the Inquisitor had been, an outcome so remote that the ‘walker had not even considered preparing for it.


	29. [IK|RK] – Lest you Become

Intense pressure threatens to consume you for what seems like an eternity. Sounds you couldn’t hope to replicate pound in your ears. You will not open your eyes, not wanting to see yourself again. You focus on the statue from your dreams, the only solid image you can recall in this situation. You feel another tugging within yourself, and the pressure abruptly stops. You recognize the feel of stone on your skin. You open your eyes at the newfound quiet.

The hallway is gone, now a shrine built around the statue before you. The features strike you immediately, and you rush to make sure it is real. Running your hands over the polished rock, you look around, overjoyed to be alive. A large Manor sits behind you, across the bridge floating over the pool of nothingness. An absolute void sits beneath the jet black surface, reminding you of a perfectly smooth glass. Torches bob gently at predetermined intervals along the bridge, offering all of the illumination in the courtyard aside from the violet flame at your feet. The building is half as tall in the middle, suggesting a terrace between the two wings. The building is the same width as the pool, the two taking up a full half of the platform they rested upon. The other half of the terrain is frozen over, an intermittent azure glow breathing underneath the ice. Beyond the actual platform is nothing, literally. A spherical wall of mist surrounds the whole establishment, encasing it within the orb of stability. A brief glimpse beyond the mists flashes random images from possible paths before your eyes.

You walk past the purple fire, descending the steps and stopping to examine one of the torches. Their casing is engraved with an intricate ivy pattern, the basins holding some ever burning substance. Peering over the edge, you see your reflection in the black, haggard and worn. An impulse draws you to it, bringing you to your knees as you kneel over the pool. A rumbling from below startles you, urging your retreat from the bridge to the solid ground between the inky depths and the Manor itself. You collapse onto the frost, panting heavily.

_Where am I…?_

You look to the building looming over you, feeling an attraction to the architecture. The large marble door has a steel torus embedded in its center. Frost around invisible seams reveals their presence. You shakily get to your feet and walk over to it, inspecting the construction. You can find no marks of craftsmanship. No wear. It’s as if this place were somehow preserved for all time. A deep, reverberating ‘crack’ of the space behind you causes you to jump again. You whirl around to face the noise.

You see yourself, or more accurately, the other you. His face is hidden behind a mask of curiosity while he speaks in a disjointed stream of thought.

“Very interesting…I certainly was not expecting you to do that. Will I still be able to absorb you, I wonder?”

The admission of his end goal is a relief and a burden. Not having to assume is a wonderful thing, but the nature of his plans still leaves much to be desired. You back against the door, scraping parts of the frost off the entryway. You yell your questions at him.

“Who are you?! Who am I?!”

His response is cryptic and unhelpful.

“I am you, and you are me.”

You feel frustration threatening to overwhelm you, still unresolved from earlier.

“No, I am me and you are you!”

“That _is_ the next bit.”

You slam your hand against the door in irritation, knocking loose more of the snow. Part of it falls onto your hand, lingering for a moment. A spreading of the chill draws your attention, and you see a layer of rime engulfing your hand and moving up your arm. While the other you watches on in fascination, you scream. Words fail to materialize, instead a debased howl leaving your lips while you scramble to try and scrape the ice off of you. The efforts are in vain, only causing it to accelerate its conquest of your body. The crystalline shell swallows your legs, trapping you upright against the door. Unable to look away, you watch in terror as your doppelgänger approaches, stopping just out of arm’s reach to observe with greater scrutiny.

Your voice is silenced as the flow contains your neck, pouring down your throat and encasing you whole. Your vision is fragmented, fractured like a kaleidoscope by the crystalline structure of your cocoon. Your body begins to liquefy, and you feel every piece of you losing solidity. Your perspective shifts to just behind your current visual seat, while you begin to perceive additional senses, faintly growing brighter through your silent agony. The other you, apparently satisfied with his observations, comes right up to your shell, placing his hand over your chest. You can barely make out what he says through the muffling effect of the cold.

“I’ve let you progress far enough. You will not be quickly forgotten, Inquisitor.”

You feel his fingertips on the ice. You try, in vain, to cry out as he presses them into it, piercing through to your unstable form. Your sense of self starts to unravel, the rimy body retracting into your assailant. You stubbornly hold on to your individuality, weeping internally as you begin to lose a sense of identity and reason. Your tears dry as you stop knowing why they are there. You close your eyes, or your vision fails. Which is immaterial. The former wonder of life is no more. Your last coherent thought is of Myra, waiting in futility for your date. As reason shatters, your mind comes to an end.

-=-

Razel fell to his knees where the Inquisitor had been moments earlier, the flow of mental stimulation grafting the double’s memories within his own. Taking a moment to himself to regain control of his emotional state, he suppressed the duplicate’s whims, sloughing them aside to be reabsorbed at a later time. The full story of the Inquisitor’s quest to become whole exemplified his failure in this decision. The hurried nature of the ritual inevitably caused the double to devolve to rampancy faster than he had anticipated. Not to mention the lack of self-control it displayed with the Justicar. His head throbbed at the recall.

This is not to say that those memories were unpleasant…simply that aeons of experience had already taught him to avoid attachment. Giving of yourself to those of mortal ken was only going to end in heartbreak. This was why he had avoided the Justicar for so long, refusing to acknowledge any semblance of feeling he may have for her – a learned survivalist instinct the duplicate had been deprived. Instead, he now had a budding attachment that he could never pursue. The incident had been too overt, too visible. Questions would be asked. Agents sent. Inquiries he didn’t want to deal with. He instead decided to visit her briefly after the fact, assuming he was able. A final visit to tell her the basics of why they can’t go on. A note of sadness plucked at his heartstrings. He counted himself lucky that the relationship had not been able to proceed any further. Razel buried the feelings inside himself, hiding them away so that he could focus.

The grinding of marble on marble urged him to turn around, facing the purple-bound skeleton in the doorway. Woodhouse looked its master up and down, reacting to the prints in the snow.

_Clack clack clack?_

The planeswalker put his head in his hands.

“I’ll be fine. I appreciate the concern.”

_Clatter clack clatter?_

“How would you know?”

The skeleton shrugged as best it could.

_Clackety clatter._

“Yes, it was a duplicate. It went rampant, and caused an irrevocable mess. I may never again be able to return to the Orzhov. I may not even be able to return to Ravnica for a while.”

_Click?_

“How am I going to explain the people who saw me chasing myself? I can’t. Even trying to pass it off as a Dimir ruse will inevitably call someone’s attention, even if only the Dimir themselves. My best ally in mending this situation is time. I must stay away and let them forget me before I can try to re-insert myself within their canon.”

The skeleton cocked its head in confusion, but said nothing. It stood by silently as its master stood, stepping past the house guard and into the office within. He trudged over to the hide chair, flopping violently and kicking up a cloud of dust. Were he capable of it, Woodhouse may have blushed. Instead, he offered a quick apology for the state of the Manor.

_Clatter Clack Clatter._

“Don’t be ridiculous, Woodhouse. There are over two and a half million square feet in the residential realms alone. It would be improbable to expect you to maintain it all constantly.”

The skeleton showed no sign of recognition, standing tall beside the heap of planeswalker in the chair. Razel let his head lull, the top hat dropping to the floor below. Woodhouse bent to pick it over, creaking as he stood back up and presented it to his master. Razel nonchalantly took it, placing it on his chest as he closed his eyes and thought.

“Woodhouse…am I a terrible individual?”

The skeleton was taken aback by this, which showed through in his delayed response.

_Click…clatter clatter?_

Razel sighed heavily, draping his arm over the chair.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I think you’re wrong. I don’t think ‘as good as you can be’ is good enough. I do terrible things, yes. But there’s always a reason.”

_Clickety-clack._

“Exactly. Like the Festival. It’s never mindless; it always serves a further purpose. So why does everything I do feel like it causes nothing but strife?”

_Clatter clatter click._

“Truth. I used to take comfort in acting as an agent of chaos working to spur progress…but as the progress comes up less and less each time, I have to wond-“

Razel stopped, the words seizing in his throat and causing him to spasm violently. A streak of power rippled from his right wrist up his arm, dissipating at the shoulder. Razel’s eyes widened at the magical ‘hiccup’.

“That…was new…”

Woodhouse stepped away slowly, keeping a respectable distance but staying close enough to converse.

_Click Click Click._

“Obviously. I don’t know what it was either. I’ll look into it after I deal with Rokh.”

Another flare wracked his body, knocking him out of the chair and onto the floor. Another arc of power burst from his other hand, connecting to his chest and brightening before it disappeared, while the chair had disintegrated where the power touched it. A second pulse came immediately on the heels of the first, the energy radiating in waves. The remainder of the chair fell to pieces as it decayed exponentially, while the floor darkened in response to the wild power. Through gritted teeth, Razel ordered his guard.

“Woodhouse…get me an elixir. Something…stabilizing. Now.”

The skeleton bowed deeply, a small sonic boom heralding his expedient exit. Razel worked his way to his hands and knees, trying to contain the power that churned within. Within moments Woodhouse had returned, bearing a transparent flask of luminous golden liquid. Razel impatiently wrenched it from his servant’s hands with his mind, flopping onto his back and mentally pouring the elixir down his throat. The energies sublimated into his essence, distributing the healing effervescence throughout his body. With the episode temporarily subdued, Razel once more stood to face his house guard, a light sheen of sweat crystallizing in the cold. A brisk shake of his head dislodged most of them, casting small frost droplets in every direction.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

_Clackety clatter click?_

“Please. And once you have finished, locate Ophelia. If anyone will know or be able to find out about whatever the hell that was, it’ll be her.”

Another bow. The old bones took to the door at a much more leisurely pace than before, the situation significantly less urgent. Taking a deep breath, Razel started out of his Manor, resigned to deal with Rokh and the Phyrexians one way or another.


	30. Hat Trick

Dust billowed through the empty halls, displaced by the arrival of one Razel Korr. The half-finished building was grimier than he had remembered, and the whistling of the breeze through unknown gaps only stressed the complete lack of audible life. No hustle, no bustle; only the melancholy wailing of the wind.

He strode out into the alleyway, cocking his head to look up for the absent dome. Murky clouds were fragmented by veins of orange light, the dust whipping over the city as it did all things on this plane. The entirety of the settlement was unoccupied, showing no damage except for the minor wearing away of the sandy grit against the buildings. Razel made his way to the machine church, descending to the offices and finding more vacancy. The Exarch's chamber had been completed not hours before, the relief showing what looked like a willing subjugation of the city above. Carvings, still fresh with powder, portrayed Rokh striding into town with several legionnaires marching behind him. The entirety of the masses bowed before him, powerless to resist. They were taken to the Foundry for...appalling reasons. He saw the same vats from before, except there was no mistaking their contents now.

Razel’s face curled in disgust. Foundry was beyond saving. The Phyrexians had spread too far, and with Rokh’s help, there was no one that could stop them. From the look of the mural, it appeared this settlement had been one of the last remaining. The planeswalker tipped his hat in memoriam to the image of the civilians, disappearing from the office and resuming his existence just outside the outer gate to the Foundry cloister, atop the hollow mountain.

A pouch slung at his hip rustled loudly as he rummaged, drawing a fist-sized filigree sphere from within. His fingers flared with arcane power, frozen mana igniting the azure vapors and causing them to churn with luminous intensity. He placed it gently at the small of his back, securing it to the very space itself. The band of his hat clung magically to his head, pre-emptively stopping it from being knocked loose. Deciding against his hat trick until he could get an answer or two, he closed his eyes and began to pool his energies. Fairly certain they knew he was there, he shouted to the space behind the door anyway.

“ROKHI! GET OUT HERE!”

The thrashing of the wind was the only noise he heard for a long moment, until a deep rumble broadcast the grinding of the gate as it slid open. Rokh marched decisively out of the doors, stopping halfway between them and the visitor before they had finished opening. He started a generic evil spiel, obviously prepared for this.

“I didn’t expect you to return, Roz. Y-”

He stopped, blinking a few times. He gaped for a moment, raised a finger, and then lowered it. Razel looked around awkwardly, unsure of what was going on. His response was laced with doubt.

“Why are you gawking at me...?”

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

Rokh’s expression shifted to skepticism.

“You really...Roz, sometimes you are the densest planeswalker I know.”

Two stony fingers tapped his temples, extracting an oily strand of magma that began to dissolve on contact with the air. As if on cue, Rokh explained.

“That was my knowledge of what you’ve become. I left exactly one image in my mind. If you want to know, you’ll have to drill it out of my head.”

Razel’s brow was precariously furrowed. As that was more or less his plan anyway, he didn’t work himself up over it. He simply inquired.

“What do you mean, what I’ve become?”

“Beat me. Find out.”

“You’re playing with me.”

“Said the man in the top hat.”

“You’re in no position to talk, mister ‘I-Just-Killed-An-Entire-Town’.”

“They are not dead, they are _repurposed_!”

Razel reached out with his mind, closing and sealing the gate behind his old mentor. He vanished from the gate, moving to a dune enclosed salt flat nearby. As expected, Rokh was not far behind. The Phyrexian laughed as he approached.

“Why did you come back? You broke your trail. You could’ve run again.”

“Don’t like you. Don’t like Phyrexia. Seemed rather obvious.”

Rokh shifted, landing a solid blow square in Razel’s ribs. The punch sent him tumbling, his motion halted by a force of will. Razel returned the favor, resolving mid-kick beside Rokh’s head. The impact spun the vulshok, who also held his motion mid-flight. He smiled through the oil seeping out of his wounded gums.

“Is this to be a cheap jump fight? Any ‘walker can do this.”

For emphasis, the Phyrexian rematerialized behind the rime mage, placing a foot forcibly into his neck and launching him face first into a nearby dune. He continued to gloat.

“Where’s the vigor? The skill?”

He shifted to immediately beside Razel, pulling him out of the sand by the collar of his robe. He held his victim in front of his face, smiling disconcertingly.

“Where’s the fun?”

In the blink of an eye, Razel flicked his wrist, extending needle-eqsue claws from his two middle fingers. He thrust them deep into the softer flesh under Rokh’s jaw, sapping the life directly from his foe. The vulshok’s grip weakened, dropping Razel, who hurriedly picked himself up and kicked Rokh away. The embezzled vitality invigorated him, while Rokh rubbed the underside of his jaw as he brought himself back to his feet, grimacing. The claws receded back into his fingers, and Razel spoke up.

“Did you find that fun at all?”

Rokh’s grimace changed to a smirk.

“That’s the spirit, frost mage.” He spit oily phlegm. “Bring the pain.”

The Phyrexian’s hands exploded into flames, unaffected by the severe gale blowing past them. The two planeswalkers loomed across from each other, ignoring the otherwise fierce storm. Rokh shot first, a dart of liquefied stone hurling from his fingers and towards Razel. The lava bent neatly around him, instead drawing into the orb at his back. He smirked in return. Undaunted, Rokh tossed more spells at him, each fireball distorting meaninglessly around him, each bolt arcing deftly past. He narrowed his eyes as he recognized what was going on, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Cheap trick, Roz.”

“Cheap tricks are the best tricks.”

“Easiest to foil, too.”

Rokh disappeared in an instant. Razel tried to turn in time to save his tool, succeeding only in catching Rokh with the orb in his hand. He dove at the relic, his arms coming up short. Rokh drew the item back, crushing it in his grasp and shattering the steel utterly. A purple cloud wept from the mangled artifact, fading in the dusty wind. The rime mage rolled to his feet, glaring at the Phyrexian. The vulshok simply grinned and opened his arms cordially, preaching to Razel.

“I’m curious! Even if you defeat me, how will you stop an entire plane of us?”

“You’ve got that handy mountain. You all love to be there. At the same time, even.”

“An outpost and you know it.”

“It’ll certainly put a dent in your plans.”

Great minds thinking alike, the two Planeswalkers threw their fists towards each other. They met midway between, colliding and pushing them both back several feet. A kick concluded the same way, their abilities too close to decide physically. They both began to back away at a deliberate pace. Rokh raised a hand, motioning to the sky before gesturing to Razel. The rime mage looked up, perceiving precisely too late the meteor that caught him straight in the jaw.

A resounding roar rolled through the substrate, the gigantic rock burying itself within the sandbanks. A cloud of salted earth thrust up around it, crashing into heaps beyond the stone itself. Razel materialized just above the bolide, falling inelegantly onto the rock and rolling into the sand. The rime mage hit the ground hard, tumbling onto his back. He forced himself to his knees, shaking his head. Before he had a chance to get to his feet, Rokh was there, another fist lodged in his sternum, forcing him up and back. Razel gritted his teeth as he flopped into the sand.

“Even if you beat us, we’ll return. You have to know this.”

A frozen skeleton erupted from the dust, screeching into the squall and reaching for Rokh. He paid it little mind, stretching his hand out and immersing it in dragon’s flame. The bones themselves melted, the resultant ash wafting away with the silt.

“PATHETIC!”

The sudden presence of Rokh alongside him barely broadcast the igneous knee that caught Razel on the reverse side of his jaw from the meteor, conveying him to the ground yet again. Rokh landed atop his back, digging his leg into the rime mage’s spine.

“PREDICTABLE!”

Razel disappeared, Rokh’s knee thumping into the sand. While the winds decelerated, clouds ceased billowing and drew to a halt. Grains hung motionless midair as time stopped flowing. Razel rematerialized behind his former teacher, smearing a rimy stream from his mouth. His eyes widened as Rokh started to stand sluggishly, shuddering as he did so. The rime mage paced back, uncertain of how this was possible. The vulshok’s skin splintered as he twisted joltingly, his wounds seeping a viscous black discharge which offended the nostrils.

“Surprise.”

The winds instantaneously restarted. Razel shifted to the top of a neighboring dune, while Rokh coolly sauntered over. He continued on his diatribe as he did so.

“You can’t be rid of us. We have sleepers in every sentient population known. They don’t even know what they truly are. Just a hint of the glorious word and they will awaken to their true purpose. But now...now, they are as any one of the crowds. Living. Loving. All that worldly nonsense. This fight is meaningless, and you know it.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

Blazing spheres of plasma shot from Rokh to Razel. They diffused against the rime mage’s mental shield with a wave of his hand. One slithered past the cracks, threatening to strike him but impacting the dune behind instead. A fresh planar scar sat where he had been previously. Rokh dove into it, warping back to the Foundry itself. Razel stood atop the peak of the summit, haughtily glowering down at the platform beneath as his enemy appeared.

The Phyrexian looked up to him in amused incredulity. Razel debated his choice for a final time, accepting accountability for what he was about to do. His tolerance at an end, the rime mage decided it was time to bring this to a close. He managed to keep his voice from cracking as he called down to his adversary.

“HEY ROHKI!”

The vulshok raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat.”

“Really? All the clichés available and you go with that? That trick never works. What, is there nothing up your sleeve?”

Exasperating the derisive tone, Razel shoved his sleeves up, revealing his bare arms. He pulled the hat from his head, wiggling his free fingers.

“Presto.”

The wiggling stopped as his fingers shot past the brim. He plunged his arm into the accessory up to his elbow, and with a furrowing of his eyebrows, wrenched forth a fist full of tentacles. The ancient horror birthed its way into the realm through the tightly stretched brim. Slimy protrusions of flesh sprouted from the hat, writhing loose as the immense torso sprung free. Sinuous arms caught the colossal body as it lurched forward. The skin glistened with a glaze of ectoplasmic slime, reflecting a spectrum of colors alien to most eyes, while the segmented growth over its head was a pearlescent bone, abnormal even by Phyrexian standards. Partial transparency revealed eyes boiling behind it like bubbles within a pot. A guttural moan bled through the membrane, thundering down the mountain. The tentacles that composed its lower half wrapped forcefully around the peak, their interminable length grasping the gate compound and enveloping it in a binding of thrashing eldritch meat. An aura of transcendent power caused the air around it to warp gradually, distorting the image of whatever lie behind. Haunting moans rolled onto the stone as it clawed into the foundations, bracing against the crag and sinking to Rokh’s level.

Lightning pierced the clouds, perforating them with electric fire. Rokh looked at the being in revulsion, confronted with a creature whose very nature disregards reality. Its head, wide as he was tall, glowered down at him in accusation. The vulshok began to quiver.

“E...El...Eldr-Eldra...”

Rokh stepped back unsteadily, his hands slowly rising in a subconscious act of protection. Instincts he had long forgotten began to take hold as his aeons of sanity peeled away. His eyes widened, twitching with disquiet. Involuntarily, he shot a lightning bolt at it. Energy splashed innocuously over the unnatural hide, droplets of power sizzling as they dissipated in the savage wind. The monster howled into the night in defiance, the sound cracking Rokh’s flesh even more. Oil now flowed freely over his robes, running down to puddle between his legs. He froze, unable to move. The blood of Phyrexia coursed through him, trying in vain to reinforce his mind against the sanity-cracking visage of the beast. While delaying the inevitable, in the end it failed in the face of a primal fear. Razel transported himself to Rokh’s side, looking fondly at the abomination. Rokh sweat pronounced beads of tar as he stared the horror down.

“Yep. An Eldrazi Spawnsire.”

“Sp-Spawnsire?”

Rokh’s eyes broadened even more as he put the meaning of the words together in his unhinging mind. Instinctually, he backhanded Razel, the blow knocking the rime mage off of the platform entirely. The Spawnsire roared once more into the evening, while Razel reappeared on its shoulder. He wiped more oil from the fresh wound across his face, now insusceptible to a sense déjà-vu.

“So, I see you like this one. How’d you like to meet the rest?”

Rokh’s face grew pale.

“You wouldn’t. You can’t.”

“Only way to be rid of you all is to be rid of the plane you’re on. Thankfully, I know a way to do just that. You’re lucky I waited as long as I did, but it’s hardly something to do lightly.”

A new scar broke through the air directly above the Eldrazi, flickering with energy. Lightning ripped into the mountain as the portal congealed, growing unhurriedly. Incapable of response and accepting his defeat, Rokh took two fingers to his temple. More gateways tore open, lightning connecting them into an ancient path. A radiant torrent of tears started to leak from Rokh’s eyes, his own recollections draining into the muck in the sand at his feet. Knowing he needed to acquire what knowledge he could while he could, Razel shifted himself behind Rokh, his signature augur condensing from a mist. The drill met no opposition, plunging into his former mentor’s skull. Razel tried to save what he could of the leaking persona, recovering some, but not all, of his objectives. A ration of the sleepers became known to him, as did a portion of the Phyrexian plan. The knowledge concerning the Academy, regrettably, had gone, lost in the puddle of memory. Confusingly to Razel, a single image endured in the otherwise empty head, suspended like a brilliant target in the emptying mind. As he received it, he heard Rokh’s voice within his head.

_I am a man of my word._

The memory swallowed him, placing him in Rokh’s shoes as he strode out of the gate to face himself. The only problem was...there were two of him. Not physically, as his body was clearly singular. Instead, his astral signature trembled, at times seeming like two entities. At the end of the imagery, it cut out, shunting Razel back to reality. The empty shell of his former friend fell to its knees, remembrances wept from its eyes while the horrors from beyond began to manifest. Despite the victory, there was more to be done. Taking the briefest of moments to himself, Razel scrutinized the list of sleepers and realms they are on for any person he may be involved with. The understanding was, in his eyes, a burden; knowing who they are meant knowing who he had to dispatch. Hunting them down, discretely, would be appallingly inconvenient. As he reviewed the info, some familiar planes came to mind, but one in particular screamed to him.

_Ravnica!_

He processed the few names, his aura plummeting the temperature of the adjacent air to glacial levels as he did so. Only one of them did he recognize. He spent a minute standing there, running it through his head over and over to be sure. He broke the icicle off his fingers, his self-control stripped. Again and again he was certain of it. There was no mistake to be made. The unavoidable next course of action froze his soul. For entirely separate reasons, the two planeswalkers shed tears for the first time in a long time.

As the gods themselves descended to devour the Foundry, a victim of circumstance left to continue his dance as a puppet to his morality.


	31. Epilogue

Sweet cinnamon wafts in through the open window, a blessing from the local Basilica censers. Humming an absentminded melody, Myra takes a large whiff, the brief images of the Inquisitor bringing a rosy glow to her face. She pulls her hair back and winds it into a loose bun, clipping an ornate headpiece over top. Deftly she prepares her pigments, accentuating the already sumptuous curves of her lips and eyes. She paints a shadow of frosty blue, fading into a crisp white at the edges. After a moment of losing herself within her reflection she replaces the minerals, taking up a small pot of gloss instead. A small brush is placed next to the pot. She picks it up and dips it gently within the gloss, painting the product smoothly over her succulent lips. She presses together to even the coverage, smirking once more at her reflection.

_Taken from the Journal of Razel Korr, Planeswalker;_

_I did something necessary today. I did several necessary things. It seems everything I do now is necessary for something. I’m doubting the falsity of my previous joke about an omnipotent prick leading me through woe._

Myra runs a hand along her neck, tracing the chain suspending a small golden key just before tucking it into her pronounced bosom. The corset is a slightly darker shade than the eye shadow, while the trim is an alabaster lace. Her skirt splits at the hip, intensifying from the royal blue of the corset to indigo to a solid black while it cascades to her ankles. She smiles as the glacial tones of her ensemble catch her eye. Traditional Azorius colors, after all. Cobalt and Diamond.

_Everything was set for me to enjoy. Prepared. Waiting. Except for the inevitable failure and destruction. I’m amazed anyone even considers associating with me, mortality immaterial._

Myra blushes at her attire, not used to the finer side of fashion. She reaches for a dusty Perfume bottle, spritzing a subtle vanilla. Intentions beyond a single night of pleasure were evident in her mannerisms. The Justicar could not think of an occasion prior wherein she had cared enough to use half of the things that rested on her vanity. Idly she flexed her toes against the cool floor, picturing her new shoes waiting beside the door and dismissing care for the inevitable ache from the tall heels.

_I should never have designed that process. All magic has its associated cost, and it seems this one the highest yet. I am such a fool. My very nature places me above the mediocrity of the day to day, and yet through some unnatural compulsion I am bound to insert myself into it wherever possible. Naturally, being unnatural, the system rejects me. Always. Is misfortune simply the multiverse’s way of trying to clear an infection? Are Planeswalkers nothing more than an uncontrolled aberration that reality itself has to conspire against?_

A stiff breeze whips into the room, chilling the air. She stands and walks to her window, closing it. The blue shimmer in the glass catches her eye and she spins, hand raised with an aura of retaliatory magic. The energy fades as she places the hand to her chest in recognition and relief.

_I did something I try to avoid doing._

“Inquisitor, you scared me half to death!”

_I tried to think of another way._

Razel looms just on the inner side of the door, the lock somehow still engaged. His hair goes every which way, and seems to have crystalline gravel embedded in it. Dark circles well at his eyes. Expressions are missing from his face, which instead is an unnaturally cold and apathetic canvas. Gashes and frayed holes litter his robe, as well as oily stains of uncertain origin. His screaming eyes bore into her from afar. Myra takes a step toward him cautiously, reaching out to her unannounced guest. Curious violet icicles grow from the frost that spreads from her fingertips as they approach. Razel tenses noticeably. She pulls her hand back in alarm, drawing a breath from him and loosening his posture.

_I can’t allow it to spread…so she had to be killed._

“Inquisitor...? What has happened to you...?”

_Why, then, did I hesitate? The logic was clear. The action required was clear. The gloss on her lips was... There was only one way to make sure she didn’t become a liability._

Myra’s face droops in sadness at the state of him. Her concern overwhelms any fear she may have felt initially. The pain radiating from him is literally tangible as the pit of her stomach falls into an abyss. Partially, this is due to his foot being lodged into her, and the force of the unexpected blow knocks her over. She tumbles into the wall, the inertia and her instincts bringing her into a ball. Her gut burns from the impact, while her lungs convulse and leak a trail of blood from her lips. Crimson blots the otherwise clear gloss. The click of his boots strikes at her ears. Her mind races faster than she can process. Confused despair is all she has to offer him as she looks up.

_I was sloppy. Brutish. I tried to stay as neutral as possible, but the effort to maintain only made it worse. I could have made it quick. I could have saved her the pain. I failed her._

“W-what? Wh-”

_The worst was her eyes. There was no fear, not initially. Only a haunting sadness and confusion. I had to keep beating her to get her away from me so I could think, try to think of any way I could stop. In the end, my abuse only horrified me more and caused me to botch this whole excursion._

Cut short, the Justicar careens through her door, launched by the back of Razel’s unnaturally fast hand. A streak of reddened gloss sticks to it after the fact. Mechanically he turns, facing the cloud of residential debris. A brilliant blue sphere envelops him, reinforced by Myra’s years trained as an agent of detention. She stands shakily, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Their garments now match, her dress decimated by the structure of the wall. Bruises are starting to build over her body. Her eyes widen as Razel simply steps through the containment, unaffected entirely. Panic seizes control as her hands project a hasty lance of sunlight, carving a crescent shaped portion from his shoulder. Crystals of ice bloom from the wound to seal it in a rejuvenative rime.

_She tried to stop me. She’s far from helpless. Pity that her spells are designed to work on those who are not of my ken. She may have been able to stop me otherwise. Possibly save the multiverse from an evil greater than herself._

“Korr...stop...”

_By the time I actually tried to bring it to an end, I could barely focus._

Fingers splayed, his hand reaches out to her. Unnatural force pulls her into the air, raising her up and pulling her taut. Limbs pop as they are wrenched from their sockets. Every corner of her wails in agony. Her own cries are subdued by the spell as her throat is pulled tight. With a quick response and a spark of blue, Razel’s forced stoicism sheared down the middle to crack his face like a brittle glass. She falls while he stumbles backwards and shakes his head. A rough landing reminds her of every wound she has obtained thus far. Now free from the spell, Myra finds herself incapable of anything except clumsily flopping onto her back. More eruptions of fire from within her body.

_I tried to dismember her. She countered me. I broke._

Both feet find purchase on either side of her hips, the planeswalker simply appearing above her. Inexplicably his face is repaired, while the void of emotion is accented by a two frozen tears riming their way down his cheek. Hours of preparation have been undone in a matter of moments. Myra no longer looks the vision she was, nearly unrecognizable with the contortion of her legs. Razel looks down to her despondently, his eyes emptier than before.

_She fell to the ground in a miserable little pile of flesh. I think I cried when I teleported above her. I could see the effort she had put into everything. The details done specifically…for me. Frozen colors dirtied by mortar and blood. I did things that I did not need to do because I am objectively weak. I should have done it from the start._

“I’m sorry.”

_I apologized and meant it. I’m not sure she heard me._

“I lo-”

_She almost said…something. Something impossible._

It cuts short as his foot breaks her face. Her body shatters headfirst. The shards smash into the ground, shattering and shattering until nothing is left of the Justicar but a tattered dress and a scent of meat and vanilla. Gold glimmers in the abandoned fabric and draws Razel’s eye. For long moments he stares at it. For just as long, it doesn’t register. He reaches down shakily to extract the chain and its prize before holding the curiosity in front of his eyes.

_How long had she been wearing my key? How long had she spent sitting there, fawning over it, hiding it away? Why would she? Why did she even speak to me? Why does anyone speak to me?_

As the lights in his mind come on and his forced apathy fades, he drops the key. Space collapses momentarily as he leaves through a fresh planar scar. A now empty room hosts the faintest echo of a cry from another world with no audience to share the lament.

_I...I need a drink._


End file.
